The Cries and Confusion of George Weasley
by Elizabeth Azrael
Summary: WARNING: STORY CONTAINS SPOILER CONTENT FROM DEATHLY HALLOWS A hole has been left in the heart of George Weasley, he is all alone, and there is one question tormenting his heart, Why couldn't it be me?
1. Prolouge: Your End of the Bargain

Rain fell down drearily over a small, bleak cemetery located only a mile and a half from the Burrow, the house which the Weasley Family called home. Far into the back of the cemetery, a mass of black robed witches and wizards huddled around a small grave surrounded by many others bearing tombstones alike in design. The drawling of the grave keeper's well wishes towards the spirit of the teenaged boy about to be buried there fell on deaf ears, and was soon drowned out by the rustling sound of several witches and wizards reaching into their pockets for their wands to cast umbrella charms over their families.

At the front of the crowd, Arthur Weasley was thoughtful enough to cast the charm over the grave, so the ebony coffin lowered six feet into the ground would not be damaged by the weather. Once the charm was set, he placed a comforting arm around his wife, who was sobbing uncontrollably into her handkerchief. She was surrounded by the grieved faces of her children, who had long since given up the hope of silencing her tears. Percy, the third eldest son, stood straight and tall with a blank expression on his face behind his mother, whom he would give the occasional pat on the back, or the whisper in her ear that everything was going to be all right. Standing to Molly Weasley's right was her eldest son, Bill, who's face made it obvious he was struggling against his own tears. In front of Bill was the second eldest, Charlie, with a fresh burn mark streaking across his face. Charlie had his hand on the shoulder of a rather lanky boy, his younger brother Ronald. His cheeks were wet, but it was hard to tell whether the rain was to blame, or if he had been crying. Standing next to Ron, were two dear friends of the family. One was Harry Potter, who's hair still refused to lay flat, despite the weight of the rain upon it, and crying in his arms was the youngest of the Weasley's, Ginny, her face hidden away in Harry's robes, silently crying. The second was Hermione Granger, her bushy hair pulled back into a low ponytail, and tears streaming down her face. There was one other Weasley, sitting at the edge of the grave, his face in his hands. George Weasley, who no longer had a twin brother.

George Weasley's heart had sank into despair with his dear, twin brother Fred's coffin. As the grave keeper drawled his final words of farewell to Fred Weasley, he pulled out his wand, and filled the hole where he lay with soggy earth. At the foot of dirt pile, stood a black tombstone bearing the epitaph "Fred Weasley, He Left this World with One Last Laugh." George lifted his head to peer at the tombstone over his hands. "Wasn't it you who said that we will always be together?" he thought to himself. "Didn't we agree that we would die on the same day? Only thirteen minutes apart…" George drew his knees up to his chest and felt hot tears roll down in cheeks. "Just the way we were born!" he whispered, as if trying to speak to Fred like he was sitting right next to him. "Why didn't you keep you end of the bargain?"

A hysterical Mrs. Weasley threw herself over the grave, sobbing even more frantically and calling out "Bring my Freddy back! Come back to mummy Fred! Come ba- NO! I WON'T LEAVE HIM!" Mrs. Weasley resisted as her husband attempted to lift her from her son's grave. She only continued to cry out her son's name. Ginny left Harry's arms to kneel down next to her mother.

"Mummy, we have to go, he isn't coming back…please mummy."

It took at least ten minutes for Mrs. Weasley's sobs to gradually fall to small, silent tears. She lifted her head from the mud to face Ginny. Ginny forced a weak smile, which her mother did her best to return. Arthur took his wife's hand an lifted her from the top of Fred's grave. The front of her robes were covered in mud, and her hair was dripping wet in the rain. Her sons then took turns hugging her and asking her to cheer up. Bill kissed her on the cheek, and Harry and Ron both convinced her that Fred would rather everyone be rejoicing over the defeat of You-Know-Who, rather than mourning over his death. All of this did well to momentarily still her tears. Nobody noticed George sitting on the Ground until thunder rolled in the distance. Mrs. Weasley immediately insisted everyone button up their coats and attempt to stay under the umbrella charm. She looked mournfully down at George, who had now buried his face in his knees. Mrs. Weasley choked on his name, trying to keep the tears from coming again "G-George, we have to leave dear, there's a storm blowing in."

George paused for a moment, contemplating whether or not he wanted to leave his brother here all alone. His heart screamed that he was never going to leave this spot, but his body slowly stood up from the ground. The rain had begun to come down on them harder. He turned to his mother, who's eyes were still red and puffy from crying. He took one last sorrowful glance at the final resting place of his brother before following the group out of the graveyard without a word.  
"It's so impossible to believe…" he thought as they passed through the wrought iron gates of the cemetery " That's he's really gone."


	2. Chapter 1: Tearful Memories

**(I'd like to apologize for the late Disclaimer, but here it is ;)**

**[DISCLAIMER: All Harry Potter characters, fictional items, and fictional settings are the creation of J.K Rowling and in no way belong to me.**

The Weasley family, Harry, and Hermione apparated back to the burrow (Ginny apparating alongside her mother) and rushed inside just as lightning struck the horizon. The rain was pitter-pattering on the roof of The Burrow, and Ginny, Harry, Ron, and Hermione all scampered around the house closing the windows before the sills got too wet from the oncoming rain. Mr. Weasley sat down at the kitchen table to look over some work from the Ministry. Now that Voldemort's invasion of the Ministry had ended, there was a lot of cleaning up to do in the wizarding world to sort things out.

Mrs. Weasley took off her coat and began to prepare some tea, but Percy volunteered to make it so Mrs. Weasley could clean herself up and get some rest. She gave him a kind nod and pulled her wand from her robes. "_Scourgify_" she whispered. The mud vanished from her robes and face into thin air. She went on to use the charm to clean everyone's shoes that had been left at the front door.

Bill didn't remove his coat or shoes. He stretched and yawned before turning to Mrs. Weasley. "I'd love to stay mum, but I've got some work to do at Gringotts. I've been called to investigate a break-in at Gringotts, we still have NO idea who to blame." Bill gave a wink to Harry, Ron, and Hermione, who had just finished closing all the windows in the house. They all grinned almost mischievously.Bill gave his mother one last hug and disappeared with a crack.

"I'll be going to mum." Charlie intervened. "A friend of mine received a pretty nasty dragon burn the other day, I won't say where, but he's in a right bit of pain at the moment. He's at St. Mungos, so I'll be staying with him."

Mrs. Weasley smiled understandingly. "Send Atticus my love, won't you dear?"she said as Charlie hugged her also.

He nodded and disappeared with another crack.

George had entered the kitchen without a word. His legs felt numb, and the image of Fred's tombstone was etched into his mind. He did not hear a word of the conversation around him.

"George…?" asked Mrs. Weasley.

George lifted his head to look at his mother.

"You will stay won't you? Just for one night!"

"I dunno mum. I have a lot of work to do back at the shop. It's going to be difficult now, without…" he fell silent, but his lips still mouthed out the word "Fred".

"Oh please, George? Just one night. I insist! You need rest, you can get back to work tomorrow."

George's gaze fell to avoid his mother's pleading eyes. "Mum, I…"

There was a long silence in the room, broken only by the purring of Crookshanks who had just leapt up on Ginny's lap to have his tummy rubbed.

Almost a minute had passed before George sighed and replied "Just one night."

Mrs. Weasley smiled at him as brightly as she could. George though, didn't seem like he would've been happy either way.

A whistling sound emitted from the teapot, and Percy, who had been leaning against the kitchen counter, turned to quickly take it off the burner. He poured tea for everyone and use his wand to mix in a cube of sugar in each mug before passing them to everyone. George took his teacup silently, looking in at it's contents. His throat was dry, and his body was soaked with cold rain, but he set his teacup down and ignored it while everyone made attempts to start weak conversation.

"So, Harry…" said Mr. Weasley, glancing over report in his hand. "Do you plan on finishing school, since You-Know-Who is gone?"

Harry had seated himself next to Ginny, and took a moment to answer. "Well…I never really thought about it. I guess it would be the right thing to do, I mean, I can't make a living without a job I guess." he shrugged.

Hermione nodded, and added "I believe I will too. I'm not exactly sure what it will be like without the usual people there, but it would definitely be the smart thing to do."

"Very wise decision. can't get far without an education." Mr. Weasley took a swig of tea from his cup before returning to his work.

"What about me?" asked Ron. "What if I don't want to finish school?"

"Ronald Weasley, you know very well that a decent education is required if you ever want to make a decent living!" said Mrs. Weasley sternly.

"Well, what if I-" Ron stopped himself in the middle of his sentence. His ears turned red.

"What if you what?" asked Harry with a grin.

"Well…" started Ron. "I was kind of hoping I could, you know, go professional with Quidditch."

"Well Ronald Weasley, you won't as much as TOUCH a broom unless you finish your schooling, do you hear me?" instructed Mrs. Weasley.

"Y-Yes mum." stuttered Ron.

Everyone turned to George, who was leaning against the wall next to the clock with each Weasley's name on it. They were expecting George to make some kind of joke, but he obviously didn't find anything funny about it.

"I think that's a great idea, Ron." he muttered tonelessly. He was too busy looking at the empty space on the clock that was labeled "Home" where Fred's hand should have been. The hand had been wiped blank of Fred's name and face.

When everyone realized George wasn't in the mood to make jokes, Percy glanced at his watch and said "Alright everyone, I think it's about time we go to bed, don't you?"

"Splendid idea!" said Mrs. Weasley "That means you too Arthur!"

Mr. Weasley looked up from his papers. "But Molly, I-"

"The work can wait, right now I think ALL of us need some time to rest."

Everyone finished their tea in a matter of minutes and made their way up the stairs to their rooms. Hermione stayed with Ginny in her room and Harry with Ron. George was the last up the stairs. He looked gloomily at the door to his room. Mrs. Weasley approached him on the stairs.

"George, aren't you going to bed?" she asked

"Actually mum…I think I'll just sleep on the couch downstairs." he replied. The thought of being surrounded by the memories of his deceased brother filled his heart with dread. All of the projects they had, their childhood belongings they had chose to leave behind when they moved out. A balloon of dread swelled up in his throat.

Mrs. Weasley opened her mouth as if to say something, but George had already started his way down the stairs. She gazed at the door to Fred and George's old room. A single tear rolled down her cheek before she continued her own way up the stairs.

George summoned a quilted blanket and a soft pillow for the couch. He glanced at the clock again, as if Fred's hand may have magically reappeared this time, but it still remained blank, so he lay down on the couch and buried himself in the blanket. He couldn't help buy miss Fred with every fiber of his being. The two of them had been the closest friends as well as brothers, and it seemed like one was never without the other until just now. He remembered how much Fred had been worried when his ear was blown off by a death eater, but this was different. Ears could be replaced. Lives couldn't be.

The rhythmic tapping of the rain on the roof of The Burrow lulled George to sleep in a matter of minutes. His slumber was filled with disturbing dreams flooded with Fred's smiling face being ripped in half at the flash of a green light and maniacal laughter in the background, but he couldn't see who it was laughing. He dreamt this same scene over and over, each time, straining to find the source of the manic laughter, but it seemed to be disembodied. The last time the scene repeated itself, as soon as the maniacal laughter died away, George found himself running through a dark forest, the sky blocked out by the dead leaves on the twisted trees. George tripped over something and felt himself fall.

George woke up to find he had rolled over and fallen off the couch. "Smooth move." he thought to himself, pushing himself off the carpet. He stood up, rubbing at a crick in his neck and glanced around the living room, wincing at a bruise on his arm where it hit the ground. Sun was streaming through the window behind him, and he looked out it to see the gnome-infested garden. George's ears caught the sound of clattering dishes in the kitchen. He walked into the kitchen still rubbing his neck, to see that everyone had already woke up and started eating. Percy was dressed for work, but Ron, Harry, Hermione, and Ginny were still in their pajamas.

" Morning George." said Ginny as she spread marmalade on her toast. "What were you doing in the living room?" she asked.

"Just woke up." he muttered in reply.

Ginny gave him a puzzled look. She was about to ask again, but Mrs. Weasley quickly interrupted her.

"Have a seat George, have some breakfast!: she said quickly.

"I'm not hungry, mum." said George.

"You have to eat something George. I can't control what you eat when you're at the shop, but while you are in my house, I am going to make sure you are properly fed! Now sit down!" she said pointing a spoon she had been using to stir something on the stove earlier at an empty chair set up at the table.

George reluctantly sat down and piled his plate with food until his mother seemed content with how much he would be eating. He began to slowly cut up one of his sausages while his mother watched him carefully, still stirring the pot on the stove.

Percy was reading the Daily Prophet at the other end of the kitchen table. He handed the prophet to his mother when he was done. "Mum, take a look at the obituaries." he said through a mouthful of toast.

Mrs. Weasley seized the paper and quickly scanned the list of deaths from the previous week.

"Oh my, we certainly did lose a lot of good witches and wizards, didn't we?" Mrs. Weasley sighed sadly.

"They mention Lupin and Tonks in there as well." said Percy.

Mrs. Weasley turned to the second page of obituaries and a mournful look crossed her face. "They did…" her eyes glistened with tears again. "I do wonder who is going to take care of poor Teddy." she said sadly.

"Who was the godfather?" asked Percy.

"Me." said Harry gloomily. "But I need to go back to Hogwarts…unless I should take care of him instead…?"

"Don't think like that Harry!" said Mrs. Weasley. "You can't support a child without finishing your education. Tonks made one of her Aunts the godmother, so she should be able to take care of the child. Oh, the poor thing." she said, looking down at the picture they had printed of Tonks and Lupin at their wedding.

"Did anyone we knew from school die?" asked George.

At first, everyone seemed appalled that George had said something without being spoken to, but Mrs. Weasley shook the shock off and said "Well, it says here that a boy by the name of Creevey died during the battle…."

"Collin Creevey?" asked Hermione, dropping her fork on her plate with a clatter.

"Wasn't that the kid who was always taking pictures of you, Harry?" asked Ron.

Harry nodded.

"Then there are a few random names, a few bodies have still been unidentified. Then of course there is Fr-" she stopped herself, looking at George, almost scared.

It took everything George had to not change his expression. He held his voice together as best as he could, but it still wavered when he asked "What does his obituary say?"

Mrs. Weasley threw the Daily Prophet in the trash behind her. "Let's not worry about that! Come on George, eat!" she urged.

George ignored the sausage he had cut up, and irritably stuff a whole one in his mouth. He chewed it only a couple of times before swallowing. Mrs. Weasley turned back to her pot, but George could swear he saw her incinerate the newspaper with her wand out of the corner of his eye.

Percy rose from the table a few minutes later and checked his watch. "Well mother, I'm off to work. Thank you for breakfast."

"Anytime Percy." said Mrs. Weasley, glad that the situation with Percy was no longer hostile.

Percy smiled and tipped his wizards hat to her before grabbing his briefcase and disappearing with a crack.

The rest of breakfast was spent with Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny discussing who was going to take over as headmaster and who their new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher would be. They were arguing the point that it was likely McGonagall would take over as Headmistress when George finished his breakfast and rose from the table.

"I think I should be going now mum." he yawned, "Verity will be opening shop up soon."

"Oh George, I-" she stopped to ponder. "Will you be alright?'

George once again dropped his gaze to avoid his mother's eyes. "I…I'll be fine." he mumbled. "I just need to get a few things before I go." he said.

"Alright George, you have a nice day at work." said Mrs. Weasley.

"Be careful, George." Said Ginny before finishing her toast.

"Yeah, take care of yourself." said Ron.

"Bye George!" said Harry.

"Good luck." chimed in Hermione.

George gave them all a weak smile and vanished with a crack. He reappeared in his room upstairs. It was almost spotless, nothing like it was when he had left with Fred. All of their old books and junk had been placed into neatly piled boxes, and the sheets on their bunk bed had been neatly made. He was surprised his mother still cleaned up here.

George went over to a desk in the corner of the room. He opened one of the drawers and scooped out several rolls of parchment and a few ink bottles. He found his old schoolbag hanging on a chair and dumped it all in there. He also found a few old prototypes of some inventions that never did work out for Fred and him. He threw those in too along with hopes he may be able to get them up and running. He found a few old order forms stacked up in the bottom drawer and stuffed those into his bag. Once he had emptied the drawers of all the things he might be needing, he slung his bag over his shoulder.

He was about to apparate to his apartment above the store when he saw something hanging on the wall. It was a picture of him and Fred about to board the Hogwarts Express for the first time. They were waving at the camera happily, making faces and laughing playfully. George pulled the picture off of the wall and looked closer at it.

He choked back a few tears at the memory. They had both been wearing hand-knit sweaters from their mother, one with a giant "F" on the front, and the other with a "G". What his mother didn't know is that they had actually switched shirts. He choked back tears at the smiling face of his brother wearing a sweater with a "G" on the front. He began sticking out his tongue and crossing his eyes at George from the picture. A few tears slid down George's cheek before he tenderly placed the picture in the bag with the rest of his belongings.

He took one last look around the room, thinking of all the mischief Fred and he had planned here in their youth. When he was finished, he wiped tears from his cheek and disappeared from the Burrow with a loud crack.


	3. Chapter 2: Alone for the First Time

**(Just a quick note, I changed the summary so it didn't contain spoilers [now that I think about, they could miss the warning ; thanks for pointing that out guys :D So if you have any other complaints, feel free to share, thanks for reading)**

George arrived at the front door of what was now only his shop, "Weasley's Wizard Wheezes". He always apparated in front of the shop to make sure everything was set up right in the windows and the door was unlocked. The shop's front window was filled with colorful devices whizzing around and letting off strange smells and sounds, drawing attention to any would-be passerby. George checked his watch. It was ten in the morning, the shop was open, but the miserable weather made it an unlikely day to see many shoppers floating around unless it decided to clear up later on.

George walked through the front shop door. A bell tinkled lightly, and a witch with short, blonde hair clad in magenta robes was sitting at the counter, leaning over a stack of filled out order forms. She looked up at George and as if she was being approached by the Minister of Magic, she stood up straight and attentive, smiling. "Hello, Mr. Weasley!" she said.

"Morning, Verity. Do you have anything for me?" he asked monotonously.

"Let me see." she replied, shuffling through a pile of papers under the front counter. "No, I don't think so. I finished mailing in our bills, and I'm just preparing a few orders at the moment."

"Have you seen anyone out and about yet?"

She shook her head no. "Not a soul, it's miserable out there, we aren't supposed to get any sun until tomorrow either."

"Alright, I want you to restock up on our skiving snack boxes, the shelf is getting empty. The pygmy puffs need to be fed as well. I'll be in the back boxing orders." he paused. "Don't bother me unless it's absolutely necessary."

Verity was obviously puzzled by George's behavior and his strange request. "Are…are you alright Mr. Weasley?" she asked.

"Have a nice day, Verity." he said gloomily before apparating into the back room.

The back room was packed full of boxes and groups of items from the store held together with large rubber bands, labels tied to them indicating who the orders were for and where they were to be sent. There was a chute in the back wall where the packages were sent down to be picked up by the delivery company.

George set his bag down on the ground next to a pile of boxes of different shapes and sizes. He cracked his neck in an attempt to get rid of the crick, but it stubbornly remained. He sighed and began to box the individual orders. The process was simple. He read the label on the order, removed the label, placed the label on a box of appropriate size for the order, packed in the order, and slid the box down the chute. All of the boxes had cushioning charms on the inside so that none of the products would be damaged during the delivery process. Sometimes George would turn on the small radio in the corner and listen to a few songs by The Weird Sisters, but he wasn't in the mood today.

George began to think about the shop as he placed several skiving snack boxes into a box and pushed it down the chute. Now that it was just him, would he be able to take care of it? Fred and he had always split their work halfway between them, but now it was all up to George, and he would like to do Fred's work the same way Fred did it, but he had never really known how he took care of everything precisely.

George knew how to take care of the basics needed to keep the business going like advertising and such, but there were a few schemes Fred had to advance the shop that George wasn't sure he could handle. They had originally considered buying out Zonko's joke shop, but George didn't know how that kind of stuff worked. Verity tried to help as often as she could, but George knew all too well that she couldn't get inside Fred's mind.

When Fred was still alive, George thought they knew everything about each other, but now that he was gone, it was almost like Fred was a complete stranger.

George sighed and began on a large order of love potions. Maybe Fred just seemed like a stranger now because he wasn't here anymore. Neither of them kept secrets from each other because they couldn't. They had been stuck together like glue since the day they were born. George's thoughts wandered to the trouble Fred and he had caused at Hogwarts, particularly on their last day there. He smiled at the memory of Professor Umbridge's face when they set off all of their fireworks, and how Fred and he had flew out of the school on their brooms. Their grand escape had become Hogwarts legend.

George finished packing another order and sighed. "I guess even legends die." he said aloud.

George lost track of time and ended up spending the next three hours packaging orders and thinking about Fred. He didn't realize jut how much time he had spent there until after he ran out of orders to pack. After the last package had gone down the chute, George twisted his torso to the left, then right to stretch his back. He apparated back to the shop front to check on Verity to see if she had forgotten to put the rest of the orders together. Verity was sitting at the counter staring blankly at the ceiling when George appeared.

"Hey Verity, where are the rest of the orders?" he asked.

Verity sat up straight in her chair at the sight of George. "I finished preparing them all. You must have finished, you've been back there for a long time now."

George raised an eyebrow and glanced at his watch. It was 2:23pm. He was surprised he had been back there so long. "Well…" he said "Time sure flies, doesn't it?" he asked rhetorically. "Did anyone come in yet today?"

"Nope, I haven't seen anyone as much as walk by. Must be a slow day today." she answered.

George looked out the front window. Verity was right, it was deserted today. He sighed. "If we don't see anyone out and about before 4:15, we'll close up early. No point in us being here if we don't have any customers."

Verity looked surprised at his suggestion. "Are you sure, Mr. Weasley? Isn't there anything you need taken care of?"

"You might want to sweep the floors, but aside from that, we don't have anything to do here." George looked down at a fake wand that turned into a rubber chicken when waved. The rubber chicken had been Fred's idea. George felt tears coming.

"Mr. Weasley, are you feeling quite alright?'

George didn't answer again. "I'm going to take a quick nap, I'm just a bit tired after the funeral yesterday."

"Oh…" said Verity, now seeing why George was so down. "I'll close up at 4:15 if the streets remain vacant...take care."

George apparated to his upstairs apartment, landing standing up on the foot of his bed. He fell backwards, head bouncing off of the pillow.

"Is this what it's going to be like everyday now?" he thought to himself. He rolled over in bed and closed his eyes. "Is it really worth it?"

George was running through the woods again. He heard maniac laughter, and a horrible ripping sound coming from behind him. The green light flashed off of the trees in front of him, and a feminine scream echoed through the forest. He tripped over a tree root at the sound of the scream. He looked up and saw shadow of something moving in the distant woods, but he didn't know what it was. He scrambled back to his feet and turned around to view the source of the scream.

Another green flash shot from the ground far behind him. It raced through the trees and shot up in the sky. George contemplated running to the source of the flash, but at the same time, felt the need to chase the shadow he had seen in the other direction. The sound of his brother's laughter echoed through the trees.

"Fred?" he asked aloud. "Are you there?" he paused "FRED!" he screamed frantically. "FRED, WHERE ARE YOU!" There was more laughter. "FRED, COME BACK! FRED!" he screamed.

Someone knocked on the door to the apartment. George jolted up in the bed and a salty bead of sweat fell from his lip and onto his tongue. He grimaced.

"Mr. Weasley, are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?" came the voice of Verity.

George ran his fingers through his hair and attempted to catch his breath. He was breathing heavily. He must have been shouting Fred's name in his sleep.

"Mr. Weasley?"

"I'm fine, Verity, what is it?" he called back. Verity was instructed to not come upstairs for any reason except to speak with either Fred or George, and even then, she wasn't allowed past the door.

"I'm closing up shop, just wanted to warn you."

"Alright, Verity, see you tomorrow." he called.

"Goodbye, Mr., Weasley."

George heard the sound of footsteps going down the stairs. He heard the tinkling of a bell and the loud click of a lock that indicated that Verity had closed up shop. George fell back onto his pillow and finished catching his breath. It was similar to the dream he had last night at the Burrow. George silently admitted to himself that the dream had been rather frightening, with the flashes of green from the killing curse, and the unseen screaming girl. Even his brother's laughter sent chills down his spine.

George jumped off his bed, noticing that the sheets on his bed were twisted from him tossing and turning from the nightmare. He looked out the open window of the apartment lazily and attempted to crack his neck again. Pains shot down his spine, and he decided it was best to leave the crick alone.

George pulled off his shoes and socks and removed his robes and shirt, throwing them across the room. He let a cool breeze blow through the window that hit his sweating chest. A feeling of relief trickled down his back. It felt good, and helped calm him down. George pulled out his wand and locked the door to his room from where he was standing. The lock clicked softly.

After pocketing his wand, George looked across the room to a mirror hanging on the wall, he walked up to it and stared at his reflection sadly. Grief flooded his veins. He could see Fred's face staring back at him, clear as day. Even George couldn't tell the two of them apart anymore. Tears welled up in his eyes, and he resisted a sob.

"_Accio Blanket" _he choked. The blanket from his bed zoomed into his hand. He quickly threw it over the mirror before walking across the room and laying back down in his bed. A sob escaped his throat, and tears fell from the sides of his face. He lay there for the rest of the day, crying until he felt he could cry no more. Then, he silently fell into a deep sleep.


	4. Chapter 3: Knockout

George had the dream again that night, the same as it had been before, the last thing he rembered hearing was Fred's laughter ringing in his ears. When he woke up, the clock on his nightstand read 11:24pm. He tried fruitlessly to fall asleep, only to realize that he couldn't stand lying still. He sat up in bed and turned to look out the window. The clouds had disappeared from the sky. The night was clear, cool, and lit by stars and a crescent moon. A cool breeze played with George's hair, enticing him to leave his warm bed for the excitingly mysterious night air.

George took his wand from his nightstand. "_Accio Robe_" he yawned. His magenta work robes zoomed into his hand and he groggily put them on and buttoned the chest, not bothering to put his shirt back on. "_Alohomora_" he whispered. The lock on his door clicked softly. He then whispered "_Carpe Retractum_" and the door swung open as he tied his shoes.

George walked out the door on tiptoe, silent as a church mouse. Even though he knew he was the only person in the store, his nighttime stealth was a habit developed from trying to avoid Filch while sneaking around at night back when he was at Hogwarts. He closed the door silently behind him and locked it again with his wand. He walked on the edge of the stairs near the wall, the ball of his feet touching ground first, followed slowly by his heels. The bottom step always creaked, so he leapt over it, and landed on the balls of his feet at the bottom of the stairs.

He looked around the shop carefully, his eyes now adjusting to the darkness. It was dead quiet. The only sound he heard was the soft, slow chirping of crickets outside. He crouched down, keeping to the shadows of the store shelves and avoiding the streaks of moonlight shining through the windows. When he reached the front door, he used his wand to open it as silently as possible instead of unlocking it and turning the knob himself. He slipped quietly out the door, shutting it slowly behind him.

The first thing George noticed once he was outside was the sky. He could've been looking at a painting, it was so flawlessly divine. The stars were like diamonds suspended in the air above him. The moonlight was an even more pure white than freshly fallen snow. George stood there to admire the stars for a moment before he shoved his hands in his pockets and began to stroll down the dark empty streets of Diagon Alley, abandoning stealth.

The wind was beginning to pick up. George could hear the soft creaking of swinging signs and the hoot of the owls for sale in Eeylop's Owl Emporium. A loon call could be heard in the distance, and the crickets had ceased their chirping. A cool breeze sent shivers down George's spine. He sadly began to wish Fred was here with him. The two had always loved the nighttime. The thought of being out and about while others were asleep gave them an adrenaline rush. It wasn't as fun when you were alone though.

George saw movement out of the corner of his eye, he took in a sharp breath, but it was only a stray cat running out from an alleyway. He relaxed and continued to walk.

He came to the brick wall entrance of Diagon Alley and tapped it twice. The bricks moved aside to form a giant hole in the wall. George stepped through and walked down the empty alleyway as the bricks replaced themselves behind him.

The windows of the Leaky Cauldron were still illuminated with a soft, golden light. The sound of scraping chairs and laughter echoed in the alleyway, welcoming the weary witch or wizard in for a drink. George contemplated going in. His mother had always warned him of weirdoes hanging out at the Leaky Cauldron late at night. His memories returned to The Hogs Head in Hogsmeade, where Dumbledore's Army had their first meeting.

"This can't be much worse…" he thought aloud with a shrug.

George knew he was wrong the moment he walked through the door. Drunks were teetering around the tables, and three men in black cloaks sat at a table whispering in snakelike voices. There was a man sitting at the bar wearing glasses over a stretch of skin where his eyes should be. A witch in a skimpy outfit sat on a barstool smoking a cigarette, and Tom, the barman had been replace by a frightening man with bandages covering his entire face except for his left eye, which looked as if it was about to pop out of it's socket. George gulped hard and sat at the bar, as far away from the other customers as possible.

"What will it be?" asked the barman with a deep, silky voice that made George's skin crawl.

"J-just fire whiskey." George stuttered.

The bar man tapped his wand on the brim of an empty glass, and it filled itself full with some of Ogden's Old Fire whiskey. The barman slid it over to him without a word. George drank it silently. It left a warm, tingling feeling in the pit of his stomach. He tried to avoid eye contact with the rest of the bar customers. He could feel eyes on his back, like the chill you would get if someone was scratching you with an icy dagger. He tried to ignore it, hoping it wasn't one of those cloaked wizards. He looked up from his drink whenever someone came in the door. Mostly they were just people passing through to head to their rooms upstairs. George didn't recognize any of them, except for one.

A pale, blonde haired boy strolled into the bar wearing black velvet robes. His pointed face was cold and tainted with an evil smirk. George recognized him as Draco Malfoy, an Ex-Death Eater. George put the hood on his robes up to cover his red hair. The last person he wanted to be recognized by was the son of Lucius Malfoy. The grip on his mug tightened as he remembered that it was a Death Eater that had killed Fred. He watched Malfoy in the reflection of the mirror behind the bar. He had joined the cloaked wizards behind him and was whispering something to them. One of them whispered something back to him. Draco nodded and motioned towards the door. One by one, the men got up and left, Draco however took a seat at the bar, only two stools away from George. George decided it was time to go and began digging in his pockets for sickles to pay for his drink.

George left three sickles on the counter, and got up to leave.

"Well, well, well…who do we have here?" came the cold voice of Draco Malfoy.

George froze to the spot.

"If it isn't one of the little Weasleys!" he said mockingly.

George dropped the hood of his robes and turned to face Malfoy.

"One of the twins no less." he laughed cruelly. "Tell me, how's your clone doing?"

"Can it, Malfoy." said George through clenched teeth.

"Oh that's right!" he continued. "Your little twinny is DEAD. How could I forget? Oh well, one less pathetic blood traitor left in this world."

"I'm warning you, Malfoy!" hissed George, reaching for his wand.

"Oh, not very friendly are we? Does ickle Weasley miss his brother?"

"_FURNUNCULUS!_" George cried.

"Argh!" Draco cried as boils began to appear all over his face. He pulled out his own wand and cried angrily "_Stupefy!_"

"_Protego!_" George shouted. His shield charm bounced the spell back at Malfoy, who ducked it cleanly.

"_Expelliarmus!_" George shouted with fury. Malfoy's wand was knocked from his hand. George charged forward and put his wand to Malfoy's neck. "Die, you son of a-"

"HEY!" shouted a female voice. George turned to see a girl with waist-length, copper red hair behind them, her wand drawn. "BREAK IT UP YOU TWO! If you're going to duel, take it outside."

George opened his mouth to say something in his defense, but he felt Malfoy's fist on the back of his head. Everything went black.

George was running through the woods again. This time, he felt like he was being chased by something. It was so dark, you couldn't see your hand in front of your face. Fred's laughter echoed through the trees.

George almost ran into a tree. He felt the trunk with his hands. He turned to see a shadow darker than the night itself racing towards him. George jumped behind the tree and pressed against the trunk, praying that whatever was chasing him wouldn't see him. He could hear something coming towards him, breathing heavily.

George closed his eyes, he could hear Fred's laughter slowly melt into a manic cackle. He opened his mouth to scream, but nothing came out. He tried again, but instead of his own voice, a blood curling, feminine scream rang in his ears.

George turned around to see that the tree he hid behind had vanished and been replaced by the shadow, crimson dripping from it's lips. An earsplitting, inhuman shriek came from the shadow.

George woke up breathing heavily to find himself in an unfamiliar room. A bandage had been wrapped around his head. He groaned at the dull, throbbing pain just above the back of his neck. He sat up and looked around the room. George turned to look out the window by his nightstand. There was no view, only a brick wall that indicated he was still in the Leaky Cauldron. George noticed there was blood on his pillow.

"Great." he muttered. "I've been knocked out by the stupid git, Malfoy."

"That's what you get for trying to pick a fight."

George's head snapped in the direction the voice came from, forgetting about his wound. He winced at the stabbing pain from moving his head to quickly. Tears filled his eyes. Through the blur, he recognized the girl that had tried to break up the fight earlier. She had just came in the door with a roll of bandages and a wet cloth.

"He was asking for it." George said sharply.

The girl gave George a stern look. He recoiled.

"Sorry…" he sighed. "He was just trying to make me mad, and it worked."

"Apparently." she said seating herself on the edge of George's bed to remove his bandage.

"What happened?" George asked.

The girl finished unraveling the bandage before she answered. "When you turned around he pushed your wand aside and gave you a nice blow to the head. You blacked out and fell to the floor. He went for his wand but I grabbed it first and threatened to turn him into a cockroach with it unless he left."

George felt embarrassed that he had been caught off guard so easily.

"Don't be embarrassed." she said, reading his expression. "Malfoy just doesn't know how to keep his mouth shut around here. He parades around like he owns the place insulting anyone that he can along the way. He's getting on my last nerve." She began to dab George's wound with a wet cloth.

"Who were those cloaked men he was talking to before?" George asked in an attempt to change the subject.

"Those guys? You don't want to get mixed up with any of them. They're in here all the time. We reckon they're all Ex-Death Eaters. Probably up to no good. I'd like to see them kicked out like Malfoy, but they pretty much keep to themselves, and you can't ban someone for looking creepy."

"I guess not…" said George remembering the bartender and the man with no eyes. "Who's we?"

"Me and my brother, Roger." she said.

"Roger…" thought George. He suddenly recognized the girl's face. "Roger Davies?"

"Yeah, that's my older brother." she said. "He went to Hogwarts."

"I didn't know he had a sister." said George.

She laughed softly. "Not many people do. We actually live closer to Beuxbatons, but it's girls only, so Roger had to go to Hogwarts instead."

George recalled when Beuxbatons had come to Hogwarts for the Triwizard Tournament. He resisted a laugh remembering how his younger brother Ron had made a complete idiot of himself asking out Fleur Delacour, who was now married to his eldest brother Bill.

The girl wrapped a fresh bandage around George's head and wrung the rag out in an empty basin on the nightstand.

"Thank you." said George.

"Don't mention it." she said. "What did Malfoy say to you anyways to get you mad?

George felt a tinge of anger burn in his chest. "It was about my brother…" he began. "My twin brother." George paused, the girl was listening intently. "He….he died, fighting that battle at Hogwarts not long ago, when You-Know-Who was killed. Malfoy was just throwing it in my face."

"I'm so sorry." she said with sympathy. "Just ignore Malfoy. He's a heartless piece of filth,. His opinion isn't worth two sickles."

George laughed. "So, what's your name?'

"Autumn, and you?"

"George Weasley."

Autumn stood up and walked over to the window to close the curtains over it, her long hair swinging behind her with each step.

"I don't mean to be rude…" began George "But when will you let me leave? I own a shop here you see…"

"The joke shop right?"

George nodded.

"I'd recommend you at least stay the night. I'm useless at healing magic, so I'm asking a friend to heal your wound when she comes through here before work tomorrow. Until then, I recommend you get some rest."

Autumn turned off the lights and left the room. Just as she was about to close the door behind her, George yelled "Wait!"

She turned around.

"How can I pay you back?" asked George.

"You don't have to." she said.

"But I want to." he insisted.

"It's fine George, you don't owe me anything." Autumn turned back around to leave.

"Wait!" George repeated.

Autumn turned back around.

"What if I…I don't know, bought you dinner or something like that?"

Autumn raised an eyebrow.

"Fortescue's has really good ice cream." he added.

Autumn paused to think. "When do you get off work?" she asked.

George smiled. "The shop closes at 5:00. Fortescue's is open until seven."

Autumn paused again. "I'll meet you at 5:30." With that, she turned around and closed the door behind her. George waited before her footsteps disappeared down the hall to lay back down.

"I think... I just asked her on a date." George realized as he slowly rested his head on the pillow.

George closed his eyes and returned to his nightmare, Fred's laughter tormenting him the remainder of the night.


	5. Chapter 4: Refuse to Forget

George was awoken the next morning by the bright, golden sunshine streaming through the windows. George could hear the buzz of a crowd outside mingling with the happy chirping of birds through the open window. He could feel a small tinge of happiness, knowing they would be having customers again. George sat up in bed and put his hands on the back of his head to stretch his back. He was surprised to find that his bandages had been removed, and his wound had disappeared along with the pain that came with it.

"Maybe I just imagined it all." George thought to himself as he threw back the covers and got out of bed. He looked down on his pillow to see it was stained with dry blood. He winced. "Well, at least I didn't get my other ear blown off too." he said, his hand reaching up to touch his fake, replacement ear.

The lock clicked on the door to the room, George dropped his hand and turned to see Autumn walking into the room with a letter in her hand. She jumped, frightened, when she saw George.

"Merlin's beard! You scared me, I thought you would still be sleeping!" she said, the hand with the letter holding her heart.

"Sorry about that." George said putting his hands in his pockets. "What time is it?"

"It's about 8am, my friend came in earlier to fix you up."

"Yeah I noticed." George said with a hint of laughter in his voice.

Autumn glanced down at the letter and put it carefully in her pocket.

"What's that?' George asked, eyeing the letter.

"My friend delivered it. It's from my mum. I still have to read it. I'll do that later though, how do you feel?"

"Alright." yawned George.

There was a short period of silence while Autumn looked out the window at the dark brick wall, the rumbling of a nearby train shaking the foundations of the inn. Then, like realizing you had forgotten to take care of something, a thought dawned on George.

"Why did you help me in the first place?"

Autumn looked taken aback. "Why wouldn't I?" she asked.

"I mean, you don't even know me. You went through all that trouble when I could've been just another drunken git picking a fight in a bar. Why waste your time?"

Autumn shrugged. "Just a hunch I guess. Stuff like this happens all the time, but when it comes to the people around here, you can usually pick out the good from the bad by natural instinct. Besides, you looked pretty sober to me. Most drunks can't even hold their wand straight."

"Well, thanks for the hunch." said George, glancing around the room, searching for his watch. He felt stupid when he realized it was in his pocket the whole time.

Autumn paused. "You might want to be going. I'm pretty sure you have to open up soon."

George nodded and gave a weak smile. "Thanks for everything. So…5:00 at Fortescues?"

"It's a date." said Autumn smiling back at him. That being said, she crossed the room and went through the door into the bathroom, closing it behind her.

The bar of the Leaky Cauldron was filled with people when George left the room and went downstairs, but had a much more friendly and cheerful air than it had the night before. Witches and wizards of all types were laughing and discussing the beautiful weather, or how work was going. Tom was back behind the bar pouring a cup full of butterbeer with his wand. George meandered through the crowd to the exit.

Several people were in the alley out back now, going though the opened brick wall into Diagon Alley. George managed to slip through before the bricks replaced themselves. He was pleased to see a large crowd of people already strolling through the street, window shopping. He glanced over at a group of young children pressing their faces on the window of Quality Quidditch Supplies. They had a row of brooms lined up on display, starting with the new cleansweep, then the nimbus 2000, then 2001, and then the Firebolt. There was also a group of three teenaged witches in Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions browsing through a rack of multicolored robes, and a few shady looking wizards could be seen skulking around down Knockturn Alley.

George spotted Verity among the crowd and rushed over to catch up with her. She was holding a copy of the Daily Prophet in front of her face, and her work robes were folded neatly over her right arm. George looked over her shoulder to see she was reading an article about Kingsley Shacklebolt as the new Minister of Magic. Verity spotted George and rolled the newspaper up quickly.

"Good morning, Mr. Weasley!" she said hastily. "I'm not late am I? I'm terribly sorry, I must've lost track of time or something!"

"It's okay, Verity, it's only 8:15. We have three quarters of an hour before we have to open. Did you restock those shelves yesterday?" he asked.

"Partially, I never did finish. Would you like me to go in early to finish that up?"

They bother turned past Gringotts onto a much less crowded street.

"That would be a good idea." he answered. "I'm going to try to clean up the back room, it's pretty cluttered back there. We have a nice sized crowd here today, so if you need any help up front, just call me."

"Yes, Mr. Weasley."

George apparated to the shop front to unlock the front door. Although the shop was located on the far side of Diagon Alley, there were already a few people wandering the street looking in the windows of the Junk Shop and Gambol and Japes. George unlocked th door and entered the shop, looking around to make sure everything was as he left it last night. Just as soon as he had confirmed that everything was in it's place, he saw Verity approaching the shop outside. He tapped the open/closed sign on the door, and the word "CLOSED" slowly melted away, and was replaced by the word "OPEN" in colorful letters.

Instead of going in the backroom like he had originally planned, George decided to head upstairs to his apartment to clean up a little bit. His hair was a tangled mess from tossing and turning all night, and his robes had dried blood on the back of the collar. George quickly made his bed before tackling his hair with a comb, which he found rather difficult without using the mirror he had thrown his blanket over the previous night. George noticed for the first time how long his hair had gotten. It had been that way for a while, but he just now realized how long it was.

"If I'm not careful, I'll look just like Bill." he thought. He removed his robes and tried to amuse himself imagining what he would look like with a fang earring and dragonhide boots while he washed his face in the water basin and used Scourgify to clean the dried blood off the back of his robes.

Once he had managed to make himself look presentable, George apparated downstairs to make sure Verity was at the register. When he saw he at the register, he gave her thumbs up and apparated into the back room before she had time to greet him with another "Good morning, Mr. Weasley."

George started his work in the back room immediately. He organized the boxes used for packaging orders by size, and tried to put all of the small packages of skiving snack boxes in neat stacks. He could see that Verity had already taken a few to the front to restock while he was upstairs.

George was digging through a pile of reusable hangmen when he found the bag of things he had taken from his old room at the Burrow. He must have forgotten to take it up to his apartment after he was done packaging orders yesterday.

He dug through the bag to check on it's contents, shuffling through pieces of parchment in an attempt to pick out one's that had already been written on. His hand froze on something rectangular. Slowly, George pulled out the picture of he and his brother before they mounted the Hogwarts Express for the first time. George felt sick. He had forgotten about Fred not along after the incident with Malfoy last night. The last time he remembered putting any thought in about his death was in his dream last night. He felt tears coming.

He was ashamed with himself. How could he forget about Fred? Was he just going to brush him off like he never existed, just because he died? Was he going to replace Fred's memory with other people like Autumn just because they were alive and Fred wasn't?

George leaned against the wall, still staring at the photo, and slid down onto the floor. What was wrong with him? Fred was his brother! Autumn was just a girl he had just met at a bar the other night, and he was already putting her in Fred's place! What kind of heartless git was he? George put his face in his hands and began to cry uncontrollably.

He hated this. He couldn't stand life without Fred. He had never lived like an individual before since Fred had always been at his side. He had never known what it was like to live life alone, but now he did, and he hated it. He didn't want to be just "George", he wanted it to go back to being "Fred and George.". He wanted Fred back. He missed him with every fiber of his being.

George lifted his head from his hands and sniffed back the tears. Fred was gone, he was never coming back, and no matter how much he didn't want to believe it, it was the truth. He was going to have to live his life alone for now on, just like everyone else.

George let that thought ring in his head for a moment. "Just like everyone else…" it was a depressing thought.

Hiccupping slightly, George stood back up and wiped tears from his cheeks with the sleeve of his robe. He turned back to the unorganized pile of Reusable Hangmen when he heard someone open the door. Verity poked her head through the doorway.

"Mr. Weasley?"

"Yes, Verity?" his voice wavered. He cleared his throat in an almost Umbridge-like way.

"You have a few visitors up front."

"Visitors? Who?" he asked. However, Verity had already disappeared through the doorway. George followed her out into the semi-crowded shop front. He saw a group of three, red-haired men observing a box of Ton-Tongue toffees. George recognized them as Bill, Charlie, and Percy. George came up behind them and forced as realistic of a smile he could manage, saying "Don't I know you from somewhere?" The three brothers turned around and smiled at George.

"Hey there little brother, how you been?" asked Charlie, the shorter and stockier one with burn marks on his face.

"I've been good." answered George. "How's Atticus doing?"

"Better everyday." Charlie replied. "They're letting him out as soon as the burn stops oozing."

The other three brother winced.

"Wow, this is some place you've got here." said Bill looking around with an approving smile. "Some of this stuff is pretty brilliant. You must be pretty loaded there, Georgie."

"I will admit, some of this stuff is quite the work of genius." added Percy. "You aren't selling these things to minors, are you?" he asked gesturing at a shelf full of fireworks.

"Nooo, of course not! What kind of rambunctious child would ever require fireworks?" he answered sarcastically, keeping in mind that there was still a whole collection of Filbusters Fireworks hidden underneath the floorboards at home.

Percy crossed his arms and raised a disapproving eyebrow.

"Don't worry Perce." George said slapping him on the back. "I promise I won't sell any fireworks to whatever kids you somehow have with Mr. Crouch."

Percy rolled his eyes.

"So, how you holding up here without us?" asked Charlie, itching the back of his hand.

"I'm still chugging along. Got a nice gouge in the back of my head from Lucius Malfoy's son last night, otherwise fine."

"Lucius Malfoy's son? You DO know the lot of them are Ex-Death Eaters, don't you?" asked Bill. "Or are you just that thick?"

"Hey, it wasn't my fault. He was talking trash. I wasn't just going to sit there, was I?"

"What did you do?" asked Percy with a hint of warning in his voice.

"Nothing." he answered. "Just gave him a few boils, disarmed him, then put my wand to his neck. I would've cursed his head off if Autumn hadn't stopped me. The git took a cheap shot to the back of my head and knocked me out."

"Wait a minute…"said Charlie, holding a hand up. "First of all, what kind of trash was he talking?"

George paused. He didn't know exactly how to say it. "He was…talking about Fred…"

The three eldest brothers' faces softened.

"George, I-" started Bill.

"It's okay, Bill." George interrupted. "You don't have to, I'm fine."

Bill gave him a "are-you-sure?" look, and George smiled as best as he could. There was a long pause before Charlie chose to ask another question.

"So…who's this Autumn girl?"

George was relieved by the change of subject. "Autumn? She was trying to break up the duel. When the git knocked me out, she took me up to her room and-"

"Her room?" Charlie asked with a mischievous grin. Percy aimed a stern look in Charlie's direction.

"You know what I mean." said George in a "don't-be-stupid" sort of way. "She's really nice. She had a friend of hers that knew some good healing magic come fix me up. Thank Merlin she was there, or I would probably just have lay there on the ground and either died a slow death by bleeding or been killed by Malfoy."

"She sounds like a nice girl." Percy pointed out.

The other three ignored his obvious statement. "So did you ask her out?" asked Charlie.

George looked at him crossly. "What, do you think I ask out every girl I meet? I don't live in a trash can."

"I dunno, George." said Charlie in a joking way.

"Aw, come on Georgie. A girl would be good for ya, now that you have to run this place by yourself…" Bill paused for a split second, but George didn't see bothered by the statement, so he went on. "It would be easier for you to find yourself a nice woman to settle down with."

"That is if you can find the maturity to settle down." added Percy.

"Not helping." Bill hissed.

"I believe the point Percy is trying to make…" said Charlie hastily as to avoid conflict "Is that we think it's about time you grew out of this joke stuff a bit- not entirely of course, but just enough so you can get a serious relationship and maybe even get married and have a few kids."

George paused. He had never really thought about getting married, let alone getting children of his own. "I dunno, guys. Marriage has never really appealed to me. I've never even had a girlfriend."

"Well why don't you just ask Bill what it's like?" asked Percy.

"George you have no idea!" said Bill. "Being married, knowing that you are with someone that cares about you just as much as you care about them, it's an unexplainable feeling!"

"Yeah, George! I'm sure you would like it." Charlie paused. "I know that it must be hard for you now that Fred isn't….with us, but you can't live in the past, you need to move on."

George lowered his gaze. His thoughts returned to what he had been thinking about earlier, about brushing Fred aside and replacing him with someone else just because they were alive and he wasn't.

Were his brothers telling him to forget about Fred and pretend he never existed, or were they just too shallow to realize what they were saying? If the first, then they had just labeled themselves as the most heartless gits George had ever met, asking him to ignore the past existence of his twin brother, their own flesh and blood as well. If the second, then they had to be the stupidest gits he had ever met to not realize what they were telling him to do. Either way, what they were saying just didn't seem right to him. After all, how could he forget Fred?


	6. Chapter 5: A Change of Heart?

**[Hola, thanks to all the people reading out there, I really appreciate the help and occasional criticism :D . Just wanted to let you know that I fixed the Fred/George mix ups in the last chapter. That's what I get for proofreading at one in the morning, so I'll try to watch out for that. I'd also like to apologize that this chapter took so long to write. Never have I had such horrible writers block in my entire life XP. Although it is delayed, here's chapter 5!**

George closed the door to his apartment behind him. His watch read 5:19, which meant he had to hurry up and get ready to meet Amber at Fortescue's. Bill, Charlie, and Percy had all stayed for a short while to talk, but Percy and Bill had to go to work and Charlie wanted to visit his friend Atticus again, so they couldn't stay long.

Once they left, George finished cleaning up the back room, then helped Verity out front until closing time. After Verity had left, George swept the shop front and washed the windows before deciding to clean himself up.

George contemplated pulling the blanket off of the mirror, but he dreaded the idea of having to see Fred's face, knowing in his heart that it wasn't really him. So once again, he combed his hair without a mirror and put on a clean pair of robes, hanging his work clothes up in his closet (the store was closed on Sundays). George looked down at his robes and noticed that they were getting a bit short for him, and they were now fading slightly to a dark gray instead of the black they had been when he bought them. George winced and grabbed an extra handful of galleons to buy himself some new robes at Madam Malkins on the way home.

All of his money safely in his pocket, George glanced out his window at the slowly thinning crowd still strolling through Diagon Alley. Not many seemed to be going into any stores or buying anything. They were mostly just wandering around to the various cafes around Diagon Alley to get something to eat before heading home after the day of shopping. Although most shops had already closed, most of the cafes were open late.

After locking everything up, George left the shop and was about to apparate to Fortescues, but considering there were still so many people, he didn't want to risk the chance of landing on top of someone. So George walked to Fortescue's, almost ignoring the people and shops around him.

George didn't know what to think about what he was doing at the moment. He kept on telling himself that he had decided to take Autumn for ice cream because she was kind enough to help him when he was injured, but a small voice inside of him told him that was hardly the half of it. George fought back the voice, saying to himself so only he could hear "This isn't a date, I'm just repaying her for her kindness. If I wanted it to be a date, I would of just gone straight up and said it."

The small voice stubbornly fought back. "But is that what she thinks? I think it was more than instinct that caused her to be so nice to you." George brushed the voice aside and attempted to drown it out by thinking about what color robes he should get, considering a dark shade of blue, or an earthy green. However, no matter how much he tried to ignore it, the voice still lectured him in his head. "You like her." it said. "You can't deny it." George resisted though. "But I can try my best to." he thought to himself.   
George took a passing glance at the display window of Flourish and Blotts. Among the many books displayed in it, one book was titled "_Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches_". He recalled Ron buying it as a gift for Harry's seventeenth birthday. He stopped in front of the display window, half of him wanted to buy it, and the other half told him that he wasn't about to abandon Fred for a pretty face.

Fortescue's was empty aside from a lone man leaning against the front window licking a mint chocolate and lemonade ice cream cone with what looked like miniature jelly slugs sprinkled over the top.

George leaned against the opposite side of the window and began to stare blankly at the crowd, waiting for Autumn to show up. George's watch read 5:27. She should be here any minute.

George watched the passing crowd blankly. He caught eye of a familiar face here and there. He recognized Dedalus Diggle, Professor Slughorn, Doris Crockford, and…Fred?

George felt his jaw drop at the sight of his brother walking through the crowd. His build was taller and slightly larger than usual, but it was Fred's face, no doubt. George felt the urge to run up to him and throw his arms around him. Was he dreaming? Could Fred really be back? George rubbed his eyes with the butt of his right hand and looked back up at the crowd. Fred was gone. Was he imagining things?

"Are you alright, George?"

George turned to see Autumn standing next to him in scarlet robes, her hair pulled back into a loose braid and thrown over her left shoulder.

George closed his mouth, embarrassed. "Hey, Autumn." he said. "How you doing?" he asked shakily.

"I'm fine, but you don't look so good yourself." she commented. "You look like you've just seen a ghost."

George gulped loudly. "Yeah…something like that." he said quietly. "So, what are you in the mood for today?' he asked motioning at the shop.

"Whatever you're getting." she said with an almost shy smile.

"Are you sure?" asked George. "They have a lot to choose from here."

Autumn laughed. "I know, I've been here before. I'm not choosey, I'll just get whatever you're having."

They ended up buying two butterscotch and raspberry ice cream cones and sat down comfortably on the street curb to watch the crowd go by. George spent a few minutes searching for something to say. His head was filled to the brim with questions to ask her, and things to say like how nice she looked in those scarlet robes, but George just couldn't get the words out of his mouth.

Autumn beat him to the first question. "So, you went to Hogwarts, right?" she asked staring down at the street.

"Mhmm." said George, swishing a small lump of raspberry around in his mouth.

"What was it like there. I mean…did you like it?"

George thought about the question before answering to avoid saying something stupid. "I'm glad I went. It's one of things that you find annoying when you have it, but when it's gone, you really start to appreciate it more because you miss it so much."

Amber lifted her head to gaze at their reflection in the front window of Madam Malkins Robes for All Occasions. "Beuxbatons is a little like that too. I kind of miss it there where all you had to worry about was finishing your homework or getting an essay done on time. Now there are bills to pay, putting food on the table, plus the Ministry attempting to get a hold of whatever Death Eaters are still left out there now that Voldemort is gone for good. "

"Yeah, I know what you mean…" said George gazing at the window across the street.

Autumn's reflection smiled at George's. George's returned the favor.

"So…what kind of stuff did you do at Hogwarts?" she asked before returning to her ice cream.

"Oh, lot's of things. My brother and I were pranksters, spent a lot of time running around at night. Then there was Dumbledore's Army, that was just a kind of secret club Harry put together to practice defensive magic…"

"Harry….Potter?" asked Autumn.

"Mhhm, nice bloke, good seeker, dating my sister."

Autumn giggled. George's gaze turned to her, he smiled again.

"What else did you do?" she asked.

"Well, Fred and I were the Beaters for our house Quidditch team…"

"Oh yeah!" said Autumn. "Roger was the captain of his Quidditch team. I never got to see him play though."

"Well, my apologies if I ever launched a Bludger at his head." George joked.

"You have quite the sense of humor." Autumn said laughing.

"It kind of comes with the Joke Business." George shrugged. "What do you do for a living anyways?"

"Me?" asked Autumn, biting off the edge of her cone. "I work at the Leaky Cauldron right now as a waitress during the day. I get free lodging and everything, but…I'm applying for a few jobs here and there. I really want do something at Gringotts, but Beuxbatons only offered one year of Arithmancy. I'm not sure I could get in."

George took a large bite out of the top of his empty cone and swallowed. "I could ask my brother Bill about it, he works a desk job at Gringotts, but he used to be a curse-breaker. He would know all the stuff you need to get in."

"Really?" Autumn's eyes lit up. George's heart almost melted under the gaze of brown eyes.

"Y-yeah!" he stuttered almost nervously. "I'll write him a letter asking if you'd like."

"That would be great!" Autumn exclaimed.

After they finished their ice cream cones, the two took to staring at the reflection across the street again, asking questions about their families and daily lives and such. They didn't stop until a small flame ignited itself in a nearby streetlamp. George pulled the sleeve of his robe up to check his watch, but Autumn stopped him. "I have to go." she said with a sad smile.

George pulled his sleeve back down and stood up, He held his hand out to help Autumn up. She took it warmly. George hoped she couldn't feel his hand shaking as he pulled her to her feet.

"Well…" Autumn began, putting up the hood of her cloak. "Thank you, for the ice cream."

"It was nothing, I owed you." said George.

Both of them paused, searching for the correct words to say. The streets were peacefully quiet, like they Autumn and he were the only people in the world.

"Well…" said George. "Good night."

"Good night." Autumn repeated.

George turned around to head back to the shop. He took three steps before Autumn called out "wait!" He turned around.

"You should…visit me at the inn if you want….if you want to that is." her face glowed warmly in the lamp light.

George smiled. "I'd love to."

Autumn smiled brightly before turning around to run down the streets back to the Leaky Cauldron. George watched her until she was out of sight. Once she had disappeared around the corner, George apparated back to his upstairs apartment. He paused for a moment, gazing out his window at the bright waning moon. He began to wonder. What did he think of Autumn? Did he like her?

"I guess" his mind answered.

"But do you REALLY like her?" he asked himself.

"I felt like I did…"

George remembered the sensation he had felt when he looked into her eyes, and when he touched her hand. Did that really mean that he had feelings for her? He didn't want to believe it, but at the same time, he couldn't deny it. He didn't know what to think. George didn't know a thing about love and romance and that kind of stuff. He had never been interested in that kind of stuff before, and he didn't really know anyone who did. Except…

"Bill!" he exclaimed eagerly. George practically sprinted to his writing desk in the corner of the room, pulling out an ink bottle, a quill, and a roll of parchment. Without even sitting himself down, George dipped his quill in the ink bottle. He paused after scribbling "Dear Bill" onto the parchment. He wanted to write this in the least immature way possible. He didn't want Bill to make fun of him.

_Dear Bill, _

_Hey, it's your favorite brother. Since you seem to be my only sibling who's managed to get married, I'd like to ask you for some advice on women. _

_First of all, how can you tell if they like you? Sometimes it seems they're just being friendly, and sometimes it seems like they're thinking about more than that. They're difficult to read._

_Secondly, how can YOU tell if you like a girl? How do you know that you don't just like her as a friend or find her attractive? How do you know if there is something there?_

_Thirdly, what kind of language do they speak? Do they have some secret code they expect us to figure out, or do they hint things at you with clever wordplay? Just wondering._

_So hope you're enjoying life with Fleur right now. Hope you guys are happy and everything._

_Sincerely, _

_George_

_P.S: Autumn is considering a job at Gringotts, do you know what the requirements are?_

George drop his quill into the ink bottle and read over the letter. He wasn't that talented when it came to writing, bit what he had would have to do. He folded the parchment up carefully and tied it together with string. He would ask Verity to mail it to Shell Cottage in the morning.

Although George felt too restless to sleep, he pulled off his robes, shirt, shoes, and socks and fell onto his bed. He closed his eyes, imagining Autumn's eyes when she gave him that look, that heart melting look. He fell asleep with images of her entrancing eyes floating peacefully in his head.


	7. Chapter 6: A Second Chance

**[I apologize once again for the delay. I planned on a chapter a day for this story, but I've had so much going on between summer work for Honors English and a few confusing emotional problems in my own personal life that I won't go into here. But, nonetheless, I once again thank you for all the support and constructive criticism :D Keep the advice coming please, I love being able to improve my writing, but enough blabbering. Here's chapter six.**

George woke up leaning against a large, beautiful oak tree in the middle of a lush meadow. The sun was shining flawlessly through the leaves, leaving neat patterns on George's skin. He leaned forward, away from the tree and looked around. He could see nothing but dead, twisted trees over the horizon behind him and to his left and right, However, waiting before him, there was nothing but an endless, open meadow. He stood up and looked up at the tree. It was so high, he couldn't even guess where it stopped. He placed a hand softly on the bark and instinctively closed his eyes. He could feel a power pulsating through the tree, like the life source of any normal human being, only amplified. He could hear the heart of the tree beating steadily against his palm.

George opened his eyes and looked around at the meadow, it's tall grass swaying in the cool, almost rhythmic breeze. He felt his hair tousled by the wind, as if it was teasing him. Looking to the forest, he was surprised to see that none of it's deceased trees were moving. He furrowed his brow curiously and walked past the oak tree, his fingers gliding over the bark, letting the life flow through him and the heartbeat fill his ears.

As soon as he moved to the other side of the tree, the wind disappeared, but it still moved the open meadow opposite of the forest. The wind was, strangely enough, emanating from the tree.

George looked over his shoulder at the meadow. It was like an ocean, ripples of grass flowing towards the horizon. What was beyond that horizon, George didn't know. He looked back to the forest and saw something moving in the gloomy, lifeless shadows of the trees. George squinted. The figure began to move towards the forest edge. He felt the heartbeat of the tree quicken. A scream drowned out the tree's pulse, echoing shrilly in his ears. George took his hand from the bark to cover his ears.

He squinted at the figure in the woods. It looked almost human, familiar in fact, but he couldn't make out a face. He tried to yell something out, but his lips could not form words. He saw the pale white of an evil grin through the shadow, and like a hosed down painting, the whole scene melted away before his eyes.

George woke up peacefully in his bed. Raindrops were pouring over the rooftop and trickling down his window while thunder rumbled softly in the distance. George immediately rolled over to check his clock on the nightstand. It was six in the morning. George threw off his covers and groggily rose from bed and staggered over to the window. The cobblestone street was wet and slippery looking, and puddles formed in the corners and in deep crevices in the stone.

Remembering it was Sunday morning, George considered going back to bed and letting the rain lull him to sleep. He put his hand on his bare stomach and felt it growl hungrily. None of the cafés were open on Sundays, and his stomach didn't sit very well with the stuff that the Leaky Cauldron was brave enough to call food. He decided leave Diagon Alley and find a Muggle breakfast diner to go to.

George pulled a t-shirt out of his closet with a picture of the muggle band "Oasis" on the front. He yanked it over his head and pulled on some socks and sneakers. He dug through his closet for a muggle jacket and found a black pea coat balled up in the corner. He put it on and buttoned up as he left his apartment and walked downstairs to the shop front. He went behind the counter and tapped the cash register twice with his wand.

"Password?" asked the cash register in a cool woman's voice.

"There's no such thing." he replied.

"Confirmed." said the register, it's drawer sliding open. George lifted the black box where all the money was and scooped out a handful of muggle money out from the bottom. He attempted to count it all out, a little rusty on his mathematics. He had around thirteen pounds. He pocketed the money, figuring that would be enough for a cup of coffee and some bacon and eggs.

He left the store, locking the door behind him, and put up his hood before venturing out into the heavy rain. George ran with his hands in his pockets to the other side of the street, pressing against closed shops to shield himself from the rain. Diagon Alley was completely empty, and all of the shop windows were dark and empty aside from the usual displays set up. The sky was a dark gray, and George could see thunderclouds in the distance. He should've thought to bring an umbrella with him. Only a few stores more popular stores would open today, like the Magical Menagerie and Flourish and Blotts.

George turned the corner past Fortescue's. His thoughts took a sharp turn from the weather to Autumn. He immediately began to wonder when he would be seeing her again. He remembered her saying she worked at the Leaky Cauldron during the day, but did he really want to bother her during work? Maybe he could send her an owl asking her to meet him again, but he didn't have an owl, and the post office was closed on Sundays.

George had also remembered her saying that she had her own room at the Leaky Cauldron. Maybe she had breakfast there too. George turned past Flourish and Blotts and sprinted across the street to the enchanted brick wall. He tapped it accordingly with his wand and jumped through the hole before the bricks had even finished moving. He hurried over to the back entrance into the Leaky Cauldron. He rushed inside, closing the door behind him to shut out the rain.

He pulled his hood down and looked around the bar. Aside from a few tired looking wizards huddling over their morning coffee, the bar was empty, and completely quiet. George took a seat at the bar, taking off his jacket and setting it on the floor next to him.

"Mr. Weasley…" yawned Tom, the barman. "Up early this morning aren't we?"

"Couldn't sleep." George murmured, reaching into his pocket for his breakfast money. He groaned as he felt the muggle coins in his pockets. "I forgot my wizard money."

"That's ok, Mr. Weasley." said Tom. "Converting muggle money is simple. What can I get for you?"

George yawned. "Pea soup?"

"Coming up." said Tom motioning at a red headed waitress cleaning tables behind George. The waitress nodded and hurried to the back room. Tom gave another yawn. "So…" he began. "I heard you were causing a right bit of trouble in my bar the other night."

George felt guilt in the pit of his stomach. "I'm sorry Tom, it was just…well Malfoy-"

"Apology accepted Mr. Weasley. Miss Davies told me the whole story after you went home yesterday morning. Didn't Molly ever tell you no to go to bars so late at night, or to pick a fight with wizards like Mr. Malfoy for that matter?"

George nodded. "Yeah, I just wasn't being myself last night. Felt a bit out of sorts."

Tom yawned into his hand and wiped his nose on his sleeve. "Now you know why I don't work the night shift, ever! Scary people hang out here at night, and I'm sure your mother would go frantic with worry if she knew you had been among any of them."

George felt rather small, being scolded for being out too late at the age of eighteen. "Autumn told me that Malfoy has caused trouble here before."

"Oh, you bet he has. Always coming in here with those friends of him. Gives me the chills whenever I have to go down there at night. I have yet to see his father down here though, but let me tell you, that Malfoy boy- ah, Hagrid! Great to see you!" Tom's attention turned to the large, hairy man who had just ducked through the door way from the muggle street, pink umbrella in hand.

"Lo', Tom! Ruddy day to be out in't it?" asked Hagrid.

"Unbelievable!" answered Tom. "I'll have to hand out towels to all my customers if this rain doesn't let up."

Hagrid sat at the bar only a seat away from George, his giant body taking up three barstools. Tom handed him a large mug of fire whiskey. "Jus' go' a few things to do before classes start this year." Hagrid took a deep drink from his mug. "Professor McGonagall 'as taken over for Professor Snape, and we 'ave a bit o' cleanin' up to do."

Tom nodded. "Yes, that big fight over there must've done a lot of damage."

"Like you wouldn't believe!" said Hagrid.

The red headed waitress from before came up to the bar holding a bowl of what looked like green mud. "Pea soup." she said placing the bowl and spoon in front of George.

"Why, George! Didn' see you there all huddled up an' everythin'. How you been?" asked Hagrid.

"I've been great, thanks." George took a sip of the soup and winced. It tasted revolting Tom eyed him curiously.

"Hot." George lied quickly.

Hagrid and Tom proceeded to talk about work and such. Hagrid was preparing a couple of Kelpies for his first lesson this year, and Tom was discussing about an infiltration of doxies in the cellar that someone was going to try ton fix later that day. George politely attempted to take a few more sips of pea soup, but couldn't stand the horrible taste and decided to ignore it. He propped his elbow up on the bar table and rested his chin in his hand as he began to think about Autumn again. Did he really like her? Did she like him? How was he supposed to tell. He had never really liked someone more than a friend, but he just didn't see Autumn as a friend.

George took in a sharp breath as someone tapped his shoulder softly. He spun around to see Autumn standing behind him, her hair up in a messy bun.

"So, how do you like that pea soup?" she asked taking the empty seat next to him, Hagrid and Tom still deep in conversation.

"Good morning Autumn." he said, avoiding the subject as quickly as possible.

Autumn smiled. "So, you working today?" she asked.

"Nope, we're closed on Sundays." he said.

"I'm off today too." she said yawning.

George saw his opportunity and seized it eagerly. "Really? So, do you want to ….I dunno, maybe hang out later?"

Autumn smiled as if that was what she was waiting for him to say all along. "What do you want to do?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe we could side-along-apparate to Hogsmeade, you'd get a nice view of Hogwarts from there if you want to see it."

Autumn just looked a George for a few minutes, like she was trying to figure him out. George almost couldn't stand her eyes, they were so piercingly beautiful.

"Alright." she finally answered. "When do you want to go?"

"I'm ready to go anytime, I just need to go home and put on some robes."

"I noticed." she said looking down at the muggle attire with some amusement. "I'll run upstairs and get ready. Meet you back here in about fifteen minutes?" she asked standing up.

"Alright." said George.

Autumn turned around and disappeared up the steps to the second floor of the Leaky Cauldron.

George stood up and noticed Hagrid beaming at him. "What?" George asked.

"Oh, nothin'." he said, still smiling at him."

George gave Hagrid an I-know-what-you're-thinking look before turning around to leave the pub through the back door. "Goodbye, Hagrid." he said.

"Have fun a' Hogsmeade." Hagrid replied with amusement.

George disappeared out the door.

**[Sorry if this chapter seemed kind of pointless, but (BEWARE OF EXTREMELY VAGUE SPOILER) pieces of it will be vital later on, so it was completely pointless (END OF EXTREMELY VAGUE SPOILER) :D I'll try to write and post the next chapter as soon as possible. Thanks for reading :D**


	8. Chapter 7: Outward Destruction

As soon as he closed the door to the Leaky Cauldron behind him, George apparated to his apartment. He paused for a moment to take in a deep breath before punching the air with his fist.

"Yes!" he cried out gleefully. His cry of joy echoed through the deserted alleyway even after he apparated back to his apartment.

George was ecstatic. He had never landed a date with a girl ever, and now he was on a second date! George couldn't stop smiling, he sat himself on his bed to think. He couldn't believe how lucky he was. He was beginning to understand what Bill, Charlie, and Percy had been trying to tell him. This feeling he had, bubbling up inside him, was indescribable. He couldn't explain it, but he loved it! It made him happy enough to forget about the rest of the world. All he could think about was Autumn. He couldn't stop smiling.

George leapt from his bed and to his dresser across the room. He carefully opened the bottom drawer, which was filled with glass vials, either empty, or filled with strangely colored liquids. He pulled out a intricately decorated glass vial filled with a red-violet solution. He placed it on top of his dresser before carefully closing the drawer.

George took the cork off the top of the vial and sniffed it. It was an oddly scented cologne. He set the bottle on the table and glanced at his watch. He had seven minutes. George whipped around to run to his closet instead of bothering with the cologne. He heard the sound of breaking glass. He turned back to the dresser to see he had knocked the vial over onto the floor. It had landed underneath the covered mirror. He was about to bend over to pick the shards of glass up, but he froze in front of the mirror.

He didn't want to, nor did he think to, but for some reason, George felt his hand reach out towards the blanket covering the mirror. He grabbed onto the blanket, and tugged on it lightly. He let go with a jolt, recoiling as if he had touched a hot stove. The blanket slithered off the mirror. George saw his reflection and fell weakly to his knees. The face he had seen staring back at him, all the thoughts that ran through his head in that millisecond; it was exactly as he had feared.

"What is wrong with me?" he whispered shakily to himself. "What have I done?"

He had seen Fred staring back at him in the mirror. He had seen the amused look on his face, the same look he had when he was killed by that Death Eater. The same look that he, his twin brother, had died with. George began to fall forward, thrusting his hands out to the ground. They landed on the sharp glass, he winced, and tears streamed from his eyes.

He had forgotten. He had forgotten all the things that he and Fred had been through. He had forgotten all that he and Fred had worked for to make this shop happen. He had forgotten that he had a twin, and that he wasn't just George. He had forgotten his brother, and his best friend. He had forgotten Fred.

He blew it all off, just for a girl. He had ignored Fred's existence. He saw him in the crowd in front of Fortescue's, but he ignored him, even if it was only a figment of his imagination. He had blown off the shop thinking about Autumn. He had been foolish and immature enough to forget that his brother had died for the better good of wizardkind. He had forgotten that his brother should be treated like a hero. Instead, he had thrown his brother into the back of his mind, too shrouded in the dark for even him to notice.

George saw blood on the floor, and quickly jumped back. He lifted his hands to eye level, shaking. There was bits of glass dug into his palms, and blood was flowing down onto his wrists and slowly down his arms. Forgetting his wand, he began to pick out each individual shard of glass, throwing it behind him, not caring where it landed.

Each piece of glass sent a pangs of sharp pain through his fingers, but he didn't care. He deserved it, he wasn't even human. No mortal person could forget someone like Fred. Fred was like the leader. Although everyone thought that they were exactly the same, they had their differences. Fred was slightly harsher and tougher than George was. He was the leader, and always knew what to do next, while George was the more softened follower, always looking up to Fred.

He pulled out a relatively large piece of glass from his thumb and winced. Fred had always been there for him through thick and thin, but now he was dead, and George couldn't even return the simple favor of remembering Fred.

"What is wrong with me." he repeated in a harsh whisper. His vision blurred.

George threw the last piece of glass across the room, and drew his knees up to his chest. He wrapped his arms around his legs and buried his face in his knees. He began to cry.

He didn't want Fred to be gone. He didn't want to believe it, but he was. He had forgotten him, for an entire day. After the lifetime they had spent together inseparable, he had forgotten, it just wasn't right.

George's sobs grew slowly louder as he remembered the promise they had made when they first started the shop.

"So how long do you think we'll keep this up?" George had asked.

"Until the day we die of course." Fred had answered.

"But what if one of us dies before the other?"

"Won't happen."

"Why not?"

"Because, we were only born thirteen minutes apart, why not die the same way?'

"You really think so?"

"I know so, same exact hour of the same exact day. I promise."

George lifted his head from his knees and looked up at the mirror.

"You promised." he said out loud through his uncontrollable sobs. "YOU PROMISED!"

George lashed out at the mirror, punching it fiercely with all the anger and confusion in his body. It shattered immediately. His sobs had gone to the volume of screams. He couldn't control himself. He began hitting and breaking everything he could in an attempt to take out his rage on something. He kicked a hole in the wall and ripped the frame of the mirror of the wall. He threw the frame to the ground where it broke into several pieces.

He yanked the drawers from his dresser, the contents flying everywhere. He ripped the sheets of his bed and tore them in half. He yanked clothes from their hangers in his closet and threw them across the room. All the time sobbing loudly and screaming at the top of his lungs "YOU PROMISED! YOU PROMISED! WHY DID YOU LIE TO ME! YOU PROMISED!"

He raged around his room like this for half an hour, ripping off his wallpaper and throwing his mattress off of his bed. The last thing he remembered doing was whip his wand out and incinerate his bed frame, leaving nothing but ash.

He threw his wand away and fell backwards onto the floor, crying even harder. He was going insane. The room was littered with broken grass and ripped of bits of cloth and parchment. He had thrown his ink bottles around the room, leaving black blotches on the walls and floor. Stuffing was spilling out of his pillow, and his sheet were covered in blood from his still wounded hands.

George felt his word falling apart around him. He wanted Fred back, he wanted his old life back. He couldn't convey all of his negative emotions fast enough. They were overwhelming him. No matter how many tears he shed or how much he screamed, his heart was still ripping itself apart beneath his chest.

George was shaking all over, he couldn't stop crying. His cheeks were wet with tears, and his eyes were puffed up and red.

Someone knocked softly on the door. George froze.

"George, are you there?" came Autumn's voice.

George didn't answer.

"George, I thought we were supposed to meet up an hour ago...I know you're in there. Are you alright?"

George buried his face in his knees in an attempt to muffle his crying, but he knew that Autumn could still hear him.

"George, I-" she began. "...never mind."

George heard Autumn storm angrily down the stairs and out of the shop. He didn't know how she got in, but he didn't care. He didn't need Autumn. He didn't deserve someone as wonderful as Autumn. He had been so cruel to Fred's memory.

George lifted his head slightly and peered through his red hair. He knew that he had Fred's face. They were twins after all. He shared Fred's eyes, his nose, his mouth, his chin, and his hair...

George stood up and walked across the room to the ashes of his bed frame. He dug through them for his wand. Blowing off the film of ash. George held the wand to his head and tapped it once. Black liquid leaked from the wand, trickling down his head, and settling slowly into his hair.

George found a piece of glass from the mirror on the floor about the size of his hand. He looked at his reflection. His red hair had become an off black color. He held a few strands in his fingers and looked at his reflection. His hair was different now, but his face...it still belonged to Fred.

He flung the mirror across the room and watched it shatter into a million pieces against the wall. He couldn't control his anger, he just couldn't. He didn't want to be part of this world anymore. He just wanted Fred back. He glared over at his window. The sun was rising over the horizon, pouring light into his room. Angrily, George pointed his wand at his closet door. It pulled itself off of it's hinges. Directing it with his wand, George thrust the door across the room towards the window. The door broke the glass of the window. He could hear the shards breaking into smaller pieces on the street below. He released the door when it hit the wall, and aimed his wand at the floorboards. He drew the nails out from the boards, and with his wand, used them to drill the door to the wall, so that the window was completely covered. His room was submerged in complete darkness.

Groping the wall for guidance, George found his closet, still crying and letting out loud sobs of blind rage and depression. He fell on top of the pile of clothes he had ripped form the hangers, and passed out with exhaustion.


	9. Chapter 8: Selfdestruction

**[I apologize for the previous chapter being so short. I was originally going to add a few things on in the editing process, but once I read it over with the additions, and decided to edit out a few other things that weren't necessary for the story, so I kind of left it the way it was before. I'm currently hitting a roadblock in the story, so my apologies if the story doesn't seem to flow right, but as soon as I reset my deadlines (after my unexpected vacation ;), I'll update with the next chapter, so until then, enjoy the story.**

George woke up an hour later to the sound of someone knocking on his apartment door. At first he thought it was Autumn trying to talk to him again, but the voice calling his name this time was different.

"Mr. Weasley, are you in there? I can't open shop without you here. The cash register is ignoring me again, and I don't know it's password..."

George lifted his head from the pile of clothes in his closet at the sound of Verity's voice. He was confused as to why he was here instead of sleeping safely on his soft, warm bed. Then he remembered his outburst earlier that morning. A balloon swelled in his throat, and his heart began to grow heavier.

"Mr. Weasley, can you hear me? Are you even there?"

George stared blankly into the darkness, trying as hard as he could to pretend she wasn't there, and that it was just him.

"Just me..." he thought. "No one else... so this is what it's like to be alone..."

"Mr. Weasley, there's glass out by the sidewalk from your window, are you okay up there? Someone left a note on the door, but it isn't in your handwriting. It says you aren't feeling well..."

George knew that Verity was pausing to see if he would reply, but he stubbornly remained silent.

Verity sighed. "I won't be opening shop then Mr. Weasley. Call me when you're feeling better...I hope I still get paid."

George heard Verity walk down the steps back into the shop. He collapsed back onto the pile of clothes and fell into an uncomfortable sleep.

George was running through the woods again, only they were darker and thicker than they had been before. The trees choked away the light, leaving the forest and all of it's inhabitants to suffocate in the darkness. George was indeed suffocating. His head was pounding, and his heart was throbbing with each breath, quickened even more by his fear. Once again he tripped, but this time, there was no dark figure or blood curling scream approaching him. It was just him, lying there alone in a dead forest.

George felt around for his wand, but was amazed to find that he had no robes on. His chest was exposed, and his lower body was covered only by a tatty, ripped pair of pants. His feet were also bare. The exposure and vulnerability only increased his already growing fear. Where in the name of Merlin was he?

George stood up slowly, wincing at a stinging pain in his hands. Squinting down at them in the darkness, he saw that they were still cut up from the glass that morning, but the blood was flowing even more than it had been when the wound was fresh. His feet hurt, as if they had been running through these woods for hours, over sticks and stones and whatever else was lying around in this godforsaken place.

George looked around the woods carefully, pricking up his ears for the noise of a snapping twig, or maybe the scream he had heard earlier. Too his dismay, there wasn't a single sign of life in these woods aside from himself.

"But am I even alive?" he asked himself quietly. He held his bleeding hands to his face. "No..." he thought, the crimson reflecting in his dark eyes. "I'm definitely alive...but if I am, then why am I here?"

He dropped his hand and looked up at the dark canopy of trees towering above him. They were twisted and scarred, but looked as if they had not been touched for centuries, if not a lifetime. There didn't seem to be a specific way that led deeper in or farther out, so George just began walking forward, hoping to see a hint of which way was out, but the forest didn't grow any more dense or thin, it was dead constant.

"Emphasis on the dead." George thought out loud.

George's foot treaded over a brittle branch on the ground about the same size around as his wrist. The crunching noise sounded like someone being run over by one of those muggle steamrollers he remembered his dad telling him about. He jumped back with a nervous yelp. The cry echoed forebodingly throughout the woods. George looked around cautiously expecting something to be running in his direction, but the forest was as empty as before.

George continued his trek through the woods for what seemed like an eternity, echoes rippling through the tree-littered wasteland with each step he took. Every single dead tree was twisted exactly the same, each branch he stepped on crunched the same exact way, and each following cry echoed for the same amount of time before it died away. It was like the most extreme version of de-ja-vu. George even stopped once before treading over the large branch to see if anyone had already broken it, but it was like someone had just broken it off a dead tree and laid it tenderly down on the ground for someone else to break.

George stepped over the branch carefully and continued his way through the woods, wondering how long this would go on for.

George had taken only a few steps, when he heard a loud crunch behind him. George froze. He recognized the sound of a foot over the large branch.

"There's someone following me!" George thought to himself.

He paused for a moment, listening for the sound of breathing or more footsteps. After about five seconds of listening, George's fear took over, and he made a run for it, bolting to his right in an attempt to leave the endless cycle he had been following for so long.

It was still dark in the woods, George's eyes had refused to adjust to the lack of light, so George had no idea where he was going. To top it off, the trees were tightly knit together, which made it impossible for George to break into a decent run. His heart was pounding, and his bare feet were screaming with pain from running over sharp sticks and several rocks without stopping, and the dusty soil was creeping into open wounds that were still vulnerable to infection. His fists were clenched tightly and nervously, blood trickling onto his fingers.

George felt terror flood his veins at a blood curling scream in the distance. George tripped, running headlong into a tree and falling to the ground. With pain throbbing in his head, and his hands and feet stained with blood, George felt completely helpless. He screamed as loud as he can in hopes that there was someone that could help him, but his cries only melted in with the mysterious banshee-like screeches in the distance.

"George!" yelled a voice in the distant.

A shadowy figure appeared before him, looking down at him ominously.

"George!" the voice came again.

The shadow extended a hand to George, it's red eyes narrowing. "Come with me, George." it hissed.

"George!"

"HELP ME!" George screamed at the top of his lungs. "SOMEONE PLEASE HELP ME! SOMEONE! ANYONE! GOD HELP ME!"

"George..." the shadow hissed again. "George...come with me...I'll bring you to him..."

"NO!" George shouted.

Then, again, like a hosed down painting, the scene melted away to make way for reality.

George didn't know where he was at first. He thought at first that he had just ended up in the woods again, but then a light appeared in front of his face. He squinted and threw his hand up to shield himself from the light.

"Oh my- Arthur, look at his hands, and his hair! What happened to his hair!"

George recognized the fretting voice of his mother.

His dad, who was holding an illuminated wand up to George, spoke next. "Now Molly, don't panic. He'll be okay. We just need to take him to St. Dementia, they'll fix him up there."

"St. Dementia? St. Dementia!" shrieked Mrs. Weasley. "No, Arthur! Not my little boy! Not my baby boy! He can go to St. Mungos! Please Arthur, not St. Dementia"

"Molly, I want to send him to St. Mungo's as much as you do, but it's just too extreme." Mr. Weasley motioned to the demolished room behind him.

Mrs. Weasley was in tears, her hands over her mouth in an attempt to muffle her wails. "My baby boy! St. Dementia! Oh, Merlin help us!"

"D-dad?" George weakly whispered. "M-mom?"

"Yes Georgie! It's us, mummy's here!" Mrs. Weasley choked.

"George..." said Mr. Weasley. "We got a tip off that you were up here. We came to check on you, and...well, we're going to take you to a place where they can fix you up son."

"St. Dementia's?" George asked. "Where is that? What is that?"

"St. Dementia's is...well, it's a place like St. Mungo's, but it's a little more...isolated."

Mrs. Weasley began to sob even louder, pulling a handkerchief from her pocket and covering her mouth as she coughed hard.

"Dad, you don't mean..."

"George, your mental state is very unstable right now, and you've started hurting yourself, we can't let you continue doing this. It's not safe, so we are sending you to St. Dementia's."

"Dad, are you saying I'm crazy?"

Mr. Weasley did not answer. He only stood up and pointed his still illuminated wand at the door over the window. He ripped it from the wall and set it carefully down in the corner where George's bed used to be.

"Come one George, we'll take you now. Get up son." Mr. Weasley's voice was weak and dismal.

"Dad, are you sending me to the Looney Bin? I'm not that bad! I can fix myself...Dad!"

"George, look at your room, it's completely demolished. It looks like a hurricane hit this place. Someone mentally stable would not do this. Look at yourself, you've died your hair, you're bleeding something horrible, you aren't safe like this."

"So you're just straight out telling me I'm crazy, that I'm completely mad."

A tear rolled down Mr. Weasley's cheek. "We're not going to lie to you son."

George felt his heart sink. So this it what it had led to. Him losing his mind. He was a psychotic mess, and now he was going to an asylum. Lovely.

"Come on, George."

Mr. Weasley lifted George up. With one hand on George's shoulder, and the other around Mrs. Weasley's waist, Mr. Weasley side-apparated to St. Dementia.

St. Dementia was a frightening place. It was a large, miserable, black building built at the edge of a precipice, overlooking the dark, churning ocean. Bright lights were lit up in the windows, but it did nothing to increase the forsaken aura surrounding George and his parents when they arrived in front of the building.

George was at a loss for words. This was what they did with all the loonies in the world. Holed them up in some desolate shit hole in the middle of nowhere, so they could go even more mad than they were to begin with.

George looked up desperately at his father. "Dad, you can't be serious."

"As serious as I'll ever be, George." Mr. Weasley replied, his voice wavering.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley led George through the front doors of the large, foreboding tower. George felt weak, and ready to vomit.

"What's going to happen to me?" he thought.

The front lobby of St. Dementia's was less dismal than it looked on the outside, but it wasn't cheery either. The floor, walls, and ceiling were all made up of dark green marble, and there was a large circular desk in the center of the room where several witches and wizards sat scribbling on lengths of parchment.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley led George up to the desk, their footsteps echoing off the empty walls. The witches and wizards at the desk completely ignored them, never taking their eyes off of their paperwork until the family approached the desk.

A dark skinned witch looked up from her paperwork, as if she hadn't noticed anyone was there. She set down her quill and looked up at Mr. Weasley, professionally asking "May I help you sir?"

Mr. Weasley cleared his throat. "My son is in need of treatment. He is extremely...ill"

Mrs. Weasley was attempting to hold back tears with little luck.

The woman pulled out a form from a pile next to her on the desk. She picked up he quill and dipped it in her ink bottle. "Your son's name?"

"George Brier Weasley"

"Age?"

"20."

"Date of birth?"

"April first, 1978."

"Describe his illness please."

"He is...mentally unstable."

"How so?"

"Well, his twin brother recently was killed, and he has grown to be very violent. He has started hurting himself." Mr. Weasley showed the woman George's hands. She wrote down something about self mutilation. "He completely destroyed his own apartment for no reason, and he died his hair black very recently."

"Did he come to you, or did you find him?"

"We found him curled up in his closet, shouting in his sleep for someone to help him."

The woman finished scribbling on the parchment and swiveled around in her chair to place the form in a slot behind her."

"Please take you and your son through the door to your left where he will be inspected to see if his case is extreme enough for him to remain here. If it is, he will be signed in as a patient here and given a room where he will be cared for until he is mentally healed. If not, then he will be sent instead to St. Mungos to be cared for instead."

George felt a twinge of hope, maybe he wouldn't have to stay here after all. Maybe he could go to St. Mungos, where he could stay and be among more cheerful looking people. He imagined the bright rooms and the smiling faces of the nurses he remembered seeing when his dad had gone to St. Mungos.

"They can't let me stay here..." George told himself. "I'm not crazy..."

**[Yes I know, a little rocky, but it's a chapter. I read it over twice for mistakes, but I was half asleep when I did, so not sure how that worked out. Just point mistakes that bother you guys and I'll fix them and replace the chapter as soon as I can. Thanks much :D**


	10. Chapter 9: Crazy or Not?

**[Not much to say before I start this chapter, just that my updates are going to slow down quite a bit since I start swim team for my school this Monday, and then school starts after labor day, so I want to finish as much as I can, but at the same time, I don't want to try to finish the story in a big hurry. So, I'll try to do the best I can at finishing what I can properly before school starts, but once school starts, ill probably be down to a chapter every week and a half ; Until then, enjoy this chapter.**

George and his parents obeyed the woman at the desk and went through a dark green door to their left, none of the other secretaries saying a word to them, or even lifting their gazes to glance at them as they walked across the silent room.

The "Inspection room", as the door was labeled, was completely white, not in a cheery sunshine way, but in a frightening, unnatural way. There were four black armchairs in the room, only three were empty. The fourth seated a tall, slender woman dressed in black and green uniform robes, a green quick-quotes-quill balanced on a roll of parchment on her lap. Her chestnut brown hair was put up in a tight bun on the top of her head. As soon as George and his parents entered the room, she motioned to the three empty chairs, and without a word being said, they took their seats.

As soon as George had settled into the firm chair, the woman extended her hand to him. "Good evening, Mr. Weasley. I am Mrs. Benet, and I will be your inspector today."

George hesitated at first, but took her hand and shook it once before leaning back into his chair.

Mrs. Benet gave a business like smile before speaking again. "I'll I ask for the three of you to do is answer a few questions about George Weasley's condition so I may conclude if he is liable to be placed in our institute." She then took three bottles of a clear liquid out of her chest pocket and distributed them to the Weasleys. "You are to take these safe doses of veritaserum before the interview to assure accuracy for the safety of the potential patient. If you refuse to take the veritaserum then you are not authorized to take the interview, and therefore your son will not be liable to become a patient here. No personal questions aside from any that would help us determine the level of his condition will be asked. Do you agree to this?"

"Yes." they all answered, consuming the liquid quickly.

"Thank you, I'll start the interview with Molly and Arthur Weasley."

Mrs. Weasley looked over at Mr. Weasley with a cross between a scared and a worried look on her face. Mr. Weasley nodded and gave her an everything-will-be-fine smile.

"Now, when did you find your son in this condition?"

"Just this evening, not fifteen minutes ago." answered Mr. Weasley. Mrs. Weasley nodded in agreement.

The quick-quotes-quill had already began darting across the parchment on Mrs. Benet's lap.

"Can you describe his conditions, or any descriptions of his environment or the things around him that you find pertinent?" she continued.

"Well, he was curled up on a pile of clothes in the closet of his apartment. The entire apartment was completely demolished. Ink bottles were broken on the walls, everything was either ripped or broken, aside from his bed frame which he completely incinerated. He had dyed his hair black, it's original color being red like the rest of our family's, and his hands were cut up and covered in blood."

Mrs. Weasley's eyes were glistening with tears. "He was talking-no, screaming in his sleep for someone to help him."

Mrs. Benet nodded as the quick-quotes-quill continued to dance across the parchment. "George, what was your dream about?"

George was about to say he didn't remember in an attempt to make him sound sane, but the veritaserum would not allow it, and the truth poured from his lips.

"It was about a dark, empty forest. Everything in it was dead, except me of course, and when I would walk in a straight line, I would keep on passing the same things over and over again, and I later discovered that something was following me."

"And what is that something, George?"

"I have no idea." he answered.

Mrs. Benet nodded and looked down at her parchment. "Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, do you recall any problems with George in his youth, any strange behavior?"

"Well...no, really. His health was always in the norm, and he never seemed troubled by anything of any large concern." answered Mrs. Weasley, almost calm.

"Were there any behavioral problems that may have caused you to scold him severely or hit him."

"Oh, goodness no! We would never hit our children!" exclaimed Mr. Weasley.

"I was always scolding George for something, but I never yelled at him unnecessarily." added Mrs. Weasley.

Mrs. Benet nodded. "Elaborate on that."

"Well..." Mrs. Weasley was now twiddling her thumbs nervously in her lap. "George and his brother Fred were always mischief makers you see, and they were often getting in trouble at school and having letters sent home..."

Mrs. Benet raised her eyebrows and watched her quill as if in thought.

"But, they never did anything dangerous and anything that hurt someone. They own- well, George owns a joke shop now." Mrs. Weasley added hastily.

"Tell me, how is your brother, George?" Mrs. Benet asked as if she hadn't heard a word of what Mrs. Weasley had added.

George avoided her eyes, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. "He was my twin brother."

"Ah, I see. What kind of relationship do you have with your brother?"

"He...died." George tried to swallow the lump in his throat, but it wouldn't budge.

Mrs. Benet raised her eyebrows. Her voice changed, showing sudden interest. "Oh, I see. And, how have you been handling that George?"

George resisted the urge to answer as much as he could, but he couldn't fight the power of the veritaserum. Regretfully, he blurted out "Not well at all. It's been miserable. I can't help but feel guilty for being the one to survive, and it feels like half of me has been ripped out."

George felt a twinge of anger as the corner of Mrs. Benet's lip curved into a smile.

"Are there any other symptoms to the loss of your twin?"

George felt his heart sink to his stomach as the words continued to pour from his mouth. "Yeah, I've had those weird nightmares almost every night since his funeral, and I've gone into hysterics at the thought of him before. I saw him in a crowd once too..."

"Hallucinations, interesting." Mrs. Benet's quick-quotes-quill crossed the t on the word "Hallucinations."

"Any other interesting visions or dreams; besides the one in the forest."

"Well..." George pondered. "There was one where I was leaning on this big tree outside the forest, but this tree was alive..."

"I see." she repeated.

George slumped in his chair. He was done for. This woman knew that he was crazy, and now, she had plenty of evidence to prove it. He was going to be stuck in here, psychiatrists prying him for questions on a daily basis while nurses came in treating him like a lunatic. He would never see the sunshine again. He would never be able to see his family without several nurses standing around him with wands pointed at him as if he would lash out and kill them all in the blink of an eye. He would never be able to see Autumn. He would never be able to apologize for what he had done.

A tear rolled down George's cheek. Mrs. Benet took no notice of it.

"Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, how many siblings does he have?"

"Five besides Fred." answered Mr. Weasley.

Mrs. Benet shook her head. "Elaborate."

"Six brothers and one younger sister." added Mrs. Weasley, describing each of the five other Weasley children, starting with Bill, the oldest.

George tuned out his mother and tried to think of a way he could get out of this. What if he just plain out told Mrs. Benet that he wanted to go to St. Mungos instead of this asylum. Would she send him there? George knew in his heart that she probably wouldn't. Lying or even twisting the truth was out of the question due to the Veritaserum, and making a run for it would only greatly increase his chances of being declared a lunatic.

George ran his hand through his black hair. This was all his fault. He had decided to shirk off Autumn and throw a fit in his room. He had decided to block out the rest of the world due to the loss of his brother. He had decided to burn his whole world to the ground, and now he was paying for his mistakes in the most horrid way he could imagine. George fought back more tears. He couldn't break down here, not now. He had to keep a straight face and tough it out, or they would see that he was emotionally weak.

"George?"

George looked up at Mrs. Benet, his face wearing an off expression from attempting to hold back the tears.

"Tell me, George, did you hurt anyone that you cared for in the process of all this, emotionally or physically. Anyone that you would usually consider of great value to you?"

George couldn't hold back the tears any longer. He put his head in his hands and began to cry into them, making as little noise as he possibly could.

"Well, let us bring ourselves to a final decision." Mrs. Benet rolled up her parchment and let the quick-quotes-quill fall lifeless on her lap. "Mr. Weasley, do you believe your son to be crazy?"

George was shocked at her use of the word "crazy." He look over to his father. Mr. Weasley's expression told George that he was trying to fight the Veritaserum, but he must have failed when he answered "Yes." and closed his eyes, falling back in his chair.

Mrs. Benet nodded. "Mrs. Weasley, do you believe your son to be crazy?"

"Mrs. Weasley was holding a handkerchief up to her mouth, crying almost as much as George was. She choked on her words. "Y-yes." she stammered before submitting to loud sobs.

Mrs. Benet nodded and turned to George. "George Weasley."

George looked up from his hands to Mrs. Benet.

"Do you believe, even if subconsciously, that you are crazy?"

George fought the veritaserum as hard as he could, trying his best to answer the way he wanted to. To his own surprise, he succeeded. "N-n-no." he managed to whisper.

Mrs. Benet nodded and stood up in her chair. She pulled a small, silver bell out of her pocket and rang it twice. Two women in uniforms similar to hers marched in.

"Emily and Diana, I ask you both to escort Mr. George Weasley to room 7713 in the minor mental illness ward after gathering his necessary health information. I shall show his parents to the door."

Mrs. Weasley's sobs grew at an alarming rate. "No!" she shrieked. "Not my baby."

Mr. Weasley's face grew very pale, and he seemed to have lost the ability to speak.

"But...why?" George asked. "I told you I'm not crazy."

"Everything will be alright George." said one of the uniformed women. "We'll take good care of you."

"Let's go see your new room, George." said the other almost monotonously.

"No..." George shook his head, inching away from them in his seat. "No! I'm not crazy, you can't leave me here."

Mrs. Weasley continued sobbing loudly.

"You have to come with us, George. We need to help you." said one of the women.

"I don't need any help! I'm- Mom! Dad!"

Neither Mr. or Mrs. Weasley reacted to George's cries. The two women grabbed George by the arms and began to lead him out of the room. George fought, kicking and screaming for them to let him go. He tried to escape, but he could not get past their iron grips.

They led George to a large metal door that had appeared at the other end of the room. The door opened for the women, and they dragged George through the doorway.

"I'M NOT CRAZY!" George screamed at the top of his lungs.

Just before the door closed behind them, George overheard Mrs. Benet saying something along the lines of "They never do know if they are crazy or not."

George felt his very soul melt away as the large door disappeared.

"But I'm not crazy." he said out loud.

"But are you?" asked the voice in his head.


	11. Chapter 10: Thinking of Her

**[Me again. Just here to say that swim team and Honors English summer work are both swallowing up my time again, but I'm starting to work out my schedule a little better. Also, I'd like to thank whoever used the word "anguish" in a review for the last chapter. It's my new favorite word :3 Enjoy.**

After the large metal door disappeared, George ceased to struggle from the grips of the nurses. It was no use. He should have never fought the veritaserum. Then, Mrs. Benet would've realized that George knew there was something wrong with him, then he would be on his way to St. Mungos by now instead of being dragged to his new prison.

The hallway into the main asylum was large and made of a strange color, like that of a faded lime. George was almost overwhelmed by the air of hostility in the air, like he was in a prison instead of a mental ward. Heavy metal doors similar to the one he just came through lined the hall, each one's defense more elaborate than the next. There were also open doors here and there that opened up to simple stairways. Some were simply open for anyone to go through, while others were gated off with heavy looking metal. As they passed one of the staircases, George heard a high-pitched female scream erupt from the doorway, shaking the metal bars restricting access to wherever the steps led. George felt his heart race. He recognized that scream.

"Nurse?" George asked shakily.

"Yes?" they both said in unison.

"That staircase over there, where does it lead to? Who was screaming up there?"

The one on his right looked down at him with a cocked eyebrow. "I don't believe it's very safe to tell you that. Why do you ask?"

"I've heard that scream before." George answered.

"Ah, I see." she nodded, looking straightforward. "If you must know, that is Boliva de Arroyo. He was a Death Eater. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named broke him out of here before the war, but we recaptured him and placed him in a high security cell."

"But...his scream, it sounds so feminine." said George, looking curiously at the staircase.

"He has a strange condition. He was recorded as having received the Dementor's kiss, but he-"

"Emily!" snapped the other nurse.

George looked up at her surprised. She had not said a word since they left the interview room.

"That is quite enough." she said.

Emily nodded and pursed her lips. She didn't speak a word the rest of that day.

"The Dementor's Kiss?" George thought to himself. "How can someone still be alive after recieving the Dementor's Kiss?"

"Where did you hear that scream before?" the other nurse asked.

George paused before answering. "I dreamt it once or twice."

The nurses led George up a flight of circular stairs at the very end of the long hallway. The must've been at least a quarter of a mile, but the stair climb seemed even longer than that. They didn't pass a single door or window until they reached the top. George's jaw dropped at the scene before him.

The entire room was made entirely of glass aside from four metal doors. He could see the ocean stretch out into the distance under dark storm clouds. He looked down and saw that the room hung over the dark, churning water. He backed away, afraid he might fall, but the nurses pulled him back.

"It's perfectly safe." said the nurse on his left. "We usually bring our Altophobiac patients here for treatment occasionally."

"Altophobiac?" George asked.

"Fear of heights." the nurse answered .

George forced himself to look down at the ominous water below. It was a long way to fall, considering how high the stairs went. It would be torture for an Alto-whatever to be up here. George gulped hard at the thought of what kind of "treatment" they would put him through.

The nurses lead George across the room to the door farthest to the left. It was labeled 7713. Emily thrust her free hand into her pocket, taking a strange silver octagon from it. George followed the octagon with his eyes as Emily placed it halfway into a slot on the door. As soon as she took her hand away, the octagon began spinning madly. A series of mechanisms clicked inside of the door, and it slowly swung open. The nurses dragged George through the door.

Room number 7713 was completely white, but in a dull gray sort of way. It's only source of light was a series of candles encased in glass boxes that hung from the ceiling, probably so the less sane patients wouldn't try to burn themselves or tamper with the fire.

George was surprised to see two metal framed beds placed on opposite sides of the room. Each with their own metal trunk at the foot of the bed and a nightstand with a small lamp on it. The rest of the room was bare aside from a large wall length window between the two beds.

The two nurses released George.

"Your psychiatrist will be in shortly. Until then, you will be taken in to receive your measurements." they turned to walk out the door.

"I have a roommate?" George asked.

"He will be in shortly. He is currently receiving treatment."

With that, the two nurses left the room without a word, the large metal door closing behind them slowly.

George took a moment to look around the room. The bed on the left side was probably his roommates. There were wilting flowers and a card on his nightstand. He didn't bother to see who it was from. He opened the metal trunk at the end of his own bed. It was filled with nothing but white shirts, pants, and socks. He closed the trunk and sighed.

"Welcome to your new home." George said under his breath.

He plopped down on his bed. It was creaky and the mattress was thin. The sheets were thin and smelled musty. George feared that the bed may collapse beneath him. Nonetheless, he lay down on the bed and rolled over to stare at the ceiling. He began to wonder what was going on in the outside world right now. His parents would have to break the news to his siblings about it sooner or later, and what about the shop? Verity couldn't run it alone. It would have to stay closed until he got out, and with the shop closed, he would lose customers. What if news of his insanity reached the public? What if they talked about him in the Daily Prophet? He would be labeled as a lunatic in general society for the rest of his life.

George rolled over to shift his gaze to the blank wall next to him.

"What about Autumn?" he thought to himself. "What is she going to think of me?"

"She's going to think you're a lunatic." said a voice in his head.

"But I'm not a lunatic." George protested .

"Then why are you here?"

George paused. "I don't know. Maybe it was a mistake."

"Why would they make a mistake this big? They would never have put you here if they didn't think you were crazy."

"Shut it." George snapped out loud.

"You can't run from the truth ickle Georgie."

"I said shut it." George repeated.

"You're a mad, raving lunatic, Georgie. Why else would you be here?"

"I SAID SHUT UP!" George screamed, lashing out suddenly and punching the wall. George winced as his fist hit the hard wood. He fell back into his bed and sucked on his now bleeding knuckle. The gray-white wall was now stained with blood.

"Damn it George!" he thought. "You are going crazy, aren't you?"

George's head snapped up at a series of clicking noises coming from the door. He jumped out of bed, forgetting his wounded hand and walked towards the door. It swung itself open slowly, and three nurses walked in. Two men and one woman. They were carrying a large box between the three of them.

"Mr. Weasley?" asked the bulkier of the two men.

"George nodded."

"We're here to give you a quick physical examination. Please take a seat."

George gave him a puzzled look, then turned around to see a white stool had appeared right behind him. He sat down slowly, eyeing the large box they were carrying nervously. It was about waist high and rectangular with gold plates on the corners. The wood it was made of was splintering slightly, and there was a large gold lock on the top.

The woman closed the large door and pulled an octagon out of her pocket, exactly like the one that had opened his door earlier. She inserted it into the lock and watched as it spun around madly, and the lock clicked open.

"Your wand, please." said bulkier man, holding his large hand out.

George reached into his pocket and handed the man his wand.

"Why didn't you try to take it earlier?" he asked.

"No use. Not a single speck of magic can be performed through wands here. We can't take the risk of any patients getting their hands on a nurse's wand and using it against them." The man inspected his wand twirling it slowly in his fingers. His face fell into a kind of entranced look as he inspected the wand. He whispered something under his breath.

"What was that?" George asked.

"Dragon heartstring, Alder. 11 inches." he said with a slight drone. The man swept his eyes once more over the wand before handing it to the female nurse behind him. She lifted the lid of the trunk, placed the wand inside, and took a roll of measuring tape. George recognized it as the same sort of measuring tape used by Olivander, the wandmaker.

"We are going to take a few mandatory measurements before you are allowed to see the psychiatrist for the first time."

George sighed and nodded his head glumly.

The three nurses spent the next hour measuring every part of his body he could imagine with the measuring tape, all while asking him questions you would more reasonably ask Mundungus Fletcher.

Strangely enough though, the entire time, George was only vaguely answering the questions. His mind was more concerned with how Autumn was doing. He kept asking himself questions like "Did I hurt her feelings that badly?" or "I wonder if I'll ever see her again." He didn't take even the lightest concern in what should have been more pressing questions, like what to do about the shop and who would be visiting him while he was here. All he wondered about was Autumn. The unanswered questions all focused down to one thing. "Did Autumn still like him?" Not knowing the answer was torturing George in the most unimaginable way. He was tantalized by it long after the nurses left with all the information they had come to gather from him and their supplies.

About an hour after they left, George left his stool and lay himself down on his bed to stare at the ceiling for as long as he could.

"I wish I had a picture to look at." he said out aloud, trying not to let go of the image of Autumn looking up at him that day at Fortescue's, afraid that if he let go, it would fade away from his memory for all eternity. That would be his goal while he stayed in this hellhole, to never forget Autumn and her beautiful, smiling face for the sake of that small smidge of sanity left in him.

An hour passed, and all George thought about the entire time was Autumn, replaying that day he spent with her at Fortescue's over and over again in his head. He paid no thought towards how much time had passed, and nearly fell out of his bed at the sound of clicking coming from the door.

"Is the psychiatrist here to see me already?" he asked himself.

He sat up in bed to get a better view of the slowly opening door. At first, only a female nurse he didn't recognize came in. George lost his interest almost immediately and leaned back to lay his head on his pillow, but his interest returned when he saw a man about his age following the nurse. His head was drooped so his jaw-length hair covered his face. He wore the same kind of pajamas George had found folded in his trunk.

"Duh!" he thought to himself. "I have a roommate."

The nurse led the man to his bed and sat him down gently.

"You rest up now, okay? You'll feel better tomorrow morning if you do." the nurse told him cheerfully before leaving the room without saying a word to George.

The man only nodded, barely moving his head. He didn't look up until after the nurse had left and the metal door had shut tight behind her.

George almost gasped out loud. He knew that face, and as a matter of fact he knew that person. That person knew him too.

"Heya, George." he said drearily.

George choked on the words at first, not sure what to say in reply. He gulped hard and stammered weakly "R-roger Davies?"


	12. Chapter 11: Old Faces

**[Oh wow, I have so many things to tell you guys, but I'll try my best to sum it all up as quickly as possible. So to start off, I know what you're all thinking. "Dude, who's this person on my author alert? Oh! It's Giselle Sancrant! What the bloody hell happened to her? Well, swim team got VERY busy, that added onto bringing my grades up in school adds to little to no time to work on fan fictions : ( BUT I am very pleased to announce that I received a review the other day during computers class (I know, reading emails during school. I'm such a rebel) that reminded me I needed to update, so I reread the story and got everything going in my head, and Ill hopefully have this story finished by Christmas (I couldn't think of what else to get you guys for reviewing :D) BUT, I'll have to get my butt going again, and you know what that means. Critic, critic, and more CRITIC! Until then, enjoy.**

George would not have been surprised if his jaw dropped all the way to the floor. Here, sitting in front of him, was the once dashing and handsome Ravenclaw Quidditch Captain he had met at Hogwarts, now sitting across from him in a room in the asylum. George was at a complete loss of words, but Roger seemed to be at a bit of loss of character.

The most frightening thing to George was Roger's appearance. His once bright, keen eyes were now bloodshot and weary, and his hair, usually smoothed back for a suave appearance, was greasy and matted on his head. He looked gaunt, from his bony, quivering hands to his now prominent cheekbones. His skin was tinted gray and everything about him seemed weak.

Reading George's gaping expression, Roger forced a small smile. "Yeah, Veritaserum does that to you. You usually aren't supposed to use it in large amounts; it weakens the drinker and makes them horribly ill. Remember that from Potions class? Wow, Snape was a git."

George closed his mouth, only to open it again seconds later. "What have they been doing to you, Roger?"

Roger shrugged. "Veritaserum, like I said. You see, my psychiatrist asks me a lot of questions about what happened with that death eater the night of the final battle at Hogwarts, and they make you take Veritaserum so you can't lie. Since I'm taking it daily, my health isn't so good. I'm getting pretty frail too."Roger pointed to a small cast on his arm. "They won't use magic to heal us because of wand regulations, so they use all these Muggle remedies. The guy that I used to room with bit his own finger off and had to get 'stitches' or something like that. Weird, huh?"

George winced. He recalled his dad talking about stitches when he had been wounded by You-Know-Who's snake a long time ago. The thought of a bunch of doctors sewing someone's finger back on with an old needle and thread sounded painful and morbid.

Then, something dawned on George. I question he was surprised wasn't the first he pressed on Roger when he saw his face here at St. Dimentia's.

"Roger, you have a sister named Autumn, don't you?"

Roger smiled and nodded. "Yeah! How did you know I had a sister, George? I never really did tell anyone…did I?"

George shook his head. "No, just…just wondering.

George wished he could have noticed it before. The strange look on Autumn's face whenever she thought about her brother or even mentioned him. George's thoughts immediately turned to the letter she had received the morning after the fight George had with Malfoy.

"Wow, I've been bleeding a lot lately, haven't I?" George thought to himself.

"So how what did you do?" Roger asked, beginning to rock back and forth on his bed.

George was puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"You know, why are you here? Did you kill someone? You and Fred always did make the weirdest inventions, they had to be dangerous. How is Fred anyways?"

George hung his head slightly. "Well, that's kind of the thing… Fred was killed…by a death eater."

Roger's eyes grew wide in a way that reminded him of Luna Lovegood. "So YOU are the one they were talking about at the end of my interview!"

George raised a curious eyebrow. "They were talking about me? Why?"

Roger leaned forward slightly, brushing his hair out of his eyes. "Well, apparently-"

Roger was interrupted by the clicking of the mechanic door followed by the loud creak of metal as the door was slowly swung open to make way for the same two nurses that had taken George up to his room earlier that day.

"Hello Mr. Weasley, your psychiatrist is ready to see you now."

George felt a twinge of fear at the thought of his psychiatrist, especially after seeing Roger's condition. "So early in my stay... and so late?"

"It is pertinent that you see your psychiatrist as soon as possible, Mr. Weasley. We will show you to your treatment room."

George stood up slowly from his bed. He looked down at Roger, but Roger only replied with a wide-eyed look that told George Roger feared the worst. It didn't help the foreboding feeling in the pit of his stomach as he walked towards the nurses. "What do you mean by 'treatment room?"

The blonde nurse grabbed George by the wrist while the other did the same, and before George could blink an eye, he could feel cold metal pressing against his skin. He was handcuffed.

"You will be just fine, Mr. Weasley…." cooed the blonde-haired nurse. "Just come with us."

George threw one last look of desperation at Roger, who had already returned to slouching over so his hair covered his face. The door slammed shut behind him, and George began to fear for the worst.

The nurses took George through the glass room again, down the spiraling stairs, and through the maze of hallways meandering through the asylum. Every single hallway the nurses led George down struck more fear into his heart. Between the torturous screaming ringing down the halls and the sound of people banging on doors and walls begging for someone to let them out, George felt whatever sanity remained in him wouldn't be able to last much longer. He began to wonder how long some of these patients had been left here, spending their days undergoing painful treatments only to be locked back up in those blank, empty rooms, wondering if they would ever be left out. It was enough to drive any witch or wizard mad within days. George couldn't help but wonder how long he would last. A chill ran down his spine at the very thought of it.

After hours of being led through twisting hallways and down several flights of stairs, the nurses approached a large black door with a strange, unfamiliar symbol that appeared to be burnt onto the door. One of the nurses took out their octagonal keys and inserted it in the door. Unlike the other times George had seen the key used, this time, the key was swallowed by the door, and the keyhole was replaced with a small microphone.

"Password?" the microphone asked.

"Epiphany." The nurse answered.

George looked at her with a puzzled look. Why would the nurse say it out loud like that, right in front of a mental health patient? Was the asylum really that confident of its security?

"Correct." replied the microphone. "Proceed."

The microphone spit the key back out into the nurse's outstretched hand and recoiled back into the door, which swung open with a small click. The nurses pushed George through the door. "The doctor will see you know." They said in unison before the door swung itself closed leaving George alone.

The room George found himself in felt like a prison. It was completely empty except for an iron gate to his left, by which was placed a black armchair. George walked slowly up to the gate, his hands wriggling in their cuffs. Behind the gate was an entirely furnished office, complete with ebony cabinets, table, and a large desk.

_"This must be my psychiatrist's office…"_ George thought to himself. He squinted his eyes at the large windows in the very back of the room to see if he could get an idea of where he was. He couldn't make out anything, so it was hard to tell. Perhaps they were in a basement, and the windows were only there for decoration. George had lost track of all the twists and turns the nurses had led him through on the way down here. Could the asylum really be that intricate?

George plopped down on the arm chair and hunched over with a sigh. St. Dimetia's was probably just one big maze that only the staff knew their way in and out of. It would make it too complicated for any of the patients to escape if they got out of their rooms. It all seemed strange to George, who had lived his life being taught that all things in the wizarding world were protected by magic. Then again, everything here was strange.

George's head shot up at the sound of a door opening from the office. A tall, thin woman came in, closing the door behind her. George tried to get a good look of her face, but she was too far away, and the room was probably too dim to tell anyways. The one thing George did notice was the woman's long, orange robes that stuck out like a sore thumb against her pale, ivory skin and raven hair.

George had half the mind to say something along the lines of "Who are you?" but decided to keep quiet. Besides, it was his big mouth that had gotten him into this mess in the first place.

The woman approached George slowly. As she came closer, George could make out a pair of black, thick-rimmed glasses sitting low on her nose and her pursed lips were colored ruby red. When she got close enough to where George could reach out and shake her hand if not for the bars, George saw that she had a very frightening face with high cheekbones and arched eyebrows.

After she had taken her seat, the woman removed her glasses and looked up at George with an almost stern look. "Hello, Mr. Weasley. I am your psychiatrist."


	13. Chapter 12: Playing By the Rules

One of the first thoughts in George's was definitely something along the lines of "What the blood hell?!" George had always heard that psychiatrists and other witches and wizards involved in the field of healing were clean-cut, professionals. The woman standing before him looked something along the lines of a member of the muggle circus. He couldn't help but just sit and stare at her, forgetting whatever manners he usually had.

The woman raised an eyebrow before stepping in front of her own chair and sitting swiftly down. "So, how are you feeling Mr. Weasley?" the woman asked, pulling an ebony wand from her robe sleeve and using it to send a long roll of parchment zooming into her outstretched hand, followed by a peacock quill.

Quickly avoiding he questions, George jumped to ask the woman "How did you do that?"

The woman gave him an almost disapproving look. "You, a wizard, don't know what magic is?"

"No, it's not that!" George answered quickly. "I just thought that magic was disabled here…"

"Well, Mr. Weasley, due to my own special needs, I require ability to perform magic within the area of my office." The woman leaned towards him in her chair, peering over her glasses. "But you need not worry about that. What we are concerned about is you, Mr. Weasley." George shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

"As for where my manners went, I am Doctor Leary, your psychiatrist. We have much to discuss, I assure you."

Doctor Leary pulled a roll of parchment from the sleeve of her robes and opened it up not five inches from her nose. She began scrutinizing it; make "hmm" noises here and there. George waited impatiently, wriggling nervously in his chair. He wasn't sure what it was about this woman that made him nervous, but he was sure her appearance, strange enough for even the wizarding world, wasn't helping.

"You have a very interesting illness here, Mr. Weasley. I haven't seen anything like it here at St. Dimentia's before." She rolled up the children and quickly tucked it into her sleeve. "So, tell me Mr. Weasley, what has been going through your mind since the death of your twin brother, Fred."

George felt the same feeling of morose pour over him. Drooping his head so his black hair covered his face, he began his reply. "Well, I guess I-"

"Wait!" shrieked the witch. George jumped, startled. Doctor Leary leapt from her chair, scuttling over to her desk and carefully opening the middle drawer with her wand and taking out a small glass vial. "We cannot yet question you until you have taken the veritaserum, how careless of me!"

The witch hurried back to her chair and popped the cork out of the vial. She carefully stuck the tip of her wand into the vial, pulling the liquid out like a string tied around the tip of her wand. "Open wide, Mr. Weasley." She said, aiming her wand at George, sending the liquid shooting off her wand and into George's nostrils.

George's hands flew up to his nose, covering it as if Doctor Leary had violated his most private area. "What in the bloody hell was that?" he asked sharply.

Mrs. Leary set the vial down by her chair and put her hands on her lap. "It's the fastest way to make sure you take you medicine. Now then, back to business." Doctor Leary picked up her quill and parchment and began scribbling on it so George couldn't see.

"So, back to where we left off. What has been going through your head since your brother died?"

The answers poured out from George like a faucet that couldn't be shut off. Everything from his regret, to his sorrow, to his frustration was being revealed to this completely batty stranger. Every single secret he had was going to be scribbled down on that piece of parchment and stored away for Doctor Leary to read as she pleases. It made George's stomach uneasy.

Next Mrs. Leary asked questions about his shop. He told her business was fine. She asked about the workers at the shop and what he did in his spare time. George told all, even about the incident in the Leaky Cauldron with Malfoy. However, opposed to his beliefs, Doctor Leary was pleased by George's fight with Malfoy. In fact, she seemed to be pleased with whatever misfortune came upon George in his stories. Not to mention the odd smile she flashed when George told of destroying his own room. It was almost sardonic.

"So, tell me about this Autumn girl, Mr. Weasley." Mrs. Leary said, peering over her glasses again.

George winced; she had hit a tender spot. The faucet still running at high speed, George began by explaining how Autumn had helped him after his fight with Malfoy. He then continued on describing their date at Fortescue's and her relationship to Roger Davies. George wished he could rip his tongue out right then and there before he revealed anymore of his soul to this woman.

Mrs. Leary on the other hand seemed to be enjoying herself. "So, what kind of feelings do you have for Autumn?" she asked.

George furrowed his brow angrily. She had just slammed the faucet shut. "How is any of this relevant to my so called 'illness'?" he asked with a sharp tone.

The doctor looked at George with a raised eyebrow. " I require a well defined image of your mind in order to determine how to help you reach a state of sanity in that mind. If I have no image, I have no way to help you."

George stood up in his chair. "Well I'm not going to sit here and let you pry into my personal life. I'd rather be a lunatic that gets to keep his secrets than sane with a mind like an open book." George turned on his heel and walked briskly towards the door, determined not to look back. He wasn't going to be treated like a lab rat.

"Mr. Weasley!" he heard the Doctor call out behind him. George froze to the spot. He attempted to continue walking towards the door, but found that he had lost total control over his body, and was being dragged back to his chair by Doctor Leary's wand. Her wand aimed precisely at him, the doctor threw him into his chair. While George attempted to regain control, several feet of chains appeared out of nowhere, wrapping themselves around George's legs, and binding him to the chair by his wrists and upper body. He wouldn't be able to escape just now. He began to jerk around in is chair, fighting against the chair, and kicking his bound legs angrily at the bars separating him from Doctor Leary.

"WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?" George shouted, now jerking around so violently, his chair was hopping off of the floor.

"Mr. Weasley, you will not be released from this institute until you show some sane behavior, and-"

"WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? I AM SANE YOU PRICK!"

"_Silencio!"_

George winced as the spell hit him. He attempted to scream an insult at the woman, but only air escaped his mouth. He felt as if his vocal cords were frozen solid.

"That's much better." Doctor Leary said coldly. "Now, I want you to understand one thing, Mr. Weasley. When you are here at St. Dimentia's, you are under MY command. If I ask you to tell me something, then you will quickly tell me or, so help you Merlin, I will FORCE you to answer me! Is that clear, Mr. Weasley?

George dropped his head with dismay. He could feel the spell melting away, renewing his ability to speak.

"Good, Mr. Weasley. Now, how do you feel about this Autumn girl?"

George looked up menacingly at her. "The bastard!" he thought to himself angrily.


	14. Chapter 13: Why Bother?

**[Hey guys, it's me again. Just wanted to tell you guys all thanks for getting me back on track with this thing with your ranting reviews, lol. Seriously, I don't think I'd ever finish this story if you didn't yell at me once in a while, so thanks a lot :3 Now, back to the story**

By the time George was dragged by the same two nurses back to his room and plopped down on his bed, he had divulged every secret he ever had to her, including he and his brother's escapades at Hogwarts, his feelings for Autumn, and the story behind Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. He didn't think there was anything left to tell her.

George sighed, letting his head fall down onto his pillow while he rubbed the red indents left in his skin from the chains. He didn't know how long he was in that room listening to that woman. There wasn't a clock anywhere in his room, and by the looks of it, the sky was never going to change.

George turned over on his bed to see Roger lying on his bed with his eyes half open. He was breathing normally instead of the slow, heavy way one did when they were sleeping, but he was so still, you could easily pass right by him not knowing he was awake.

Roger was the first to talk. "So how was it?" he asked, not even bothering to look at George.

George turned over again so he was facing the ceiling. "Like hell, that's how."

George heard Roger shift in his bed. "Yeah, the only time that's worse than the first is the second, but that's because you already know what's coming. After that, you decide that you just have to get used to it."

George sighed. "So what do I have to look forward to tomorrow?" he asked gruffly.

"Well…" Roger began, pondering. "There's tonight to start with. It's like hell trying to get some shut-eye. Especially with the neighbors, but you'll figure that out later. Then, when you do fall asleep, it's pretty restless, and everyone usually wakes up sometime in the middle of the night. Most people scream for at least their first week here. After that it just turns into these horrible sobs and moans."

A violent shiver ran down George's spine. "_Is this what my life is coming to?"_ he thought fearfully.

"As for tomorrow…" Roger continued. "Tomorrow you usually wake up when they start the sessions for the altophobiacs, so the screaming, if anything will most likely wake you up. It's damn twisted too, the way they scream. You'd think they were getting murdered. After they've gone back to their rooms, it's pretty peaceful. Then they come to breakfast and serve you this weird potion, and start asking you questions about how you've slept, your dreams, and whatever else they can think of. I'm pretty sure they slip veritaserum into your food too. Some people get so hungry and thirsty that they can't help but eat what little they bring you, so it's useless to just ignore it." Roger drew his knees up to his chest and buried his head in them. "It's useless trying to rebel to anything they do here. There's no way out. Besides, it's easier when you just behave and do as you're told. They don't give you so much grief for it."

Roger suddenly grew quiet. The soft creaking told George that he must be rocking on his bed again. All of it frightened George. He didn't want to be stuck in this place for the rest of his life, never able to see his family and friends again, never able to taste his mum's home cooking, and never able to see the sun shine. His shop was going to collect dust in the corner of Diagon Alley until someone else bought the property, and all the work that he and Fred had done over the years would mean nothing.

_"So much for your end of the bargain."_

The shrill shriek of a woman next door reached his ears, echoing through the otherwise quiet room, followed by a desperate shout from a further distance calling "GET ME OUT OF HERE!"

"Good night, George." Roger said, rolling over so his back faced George.

"G'night, Roger." He grumbled, throwing his covers over his head and curling up into a ball. It was going to be a long night.

George wasn't surprised when he woke up only to find himself engulfed once again by the dead trees and stagnant air of his own recurring nightmare. He had found himself as he was the night before he was sent to the asylum: leaning against a dead tree with nothing but a tatty old pair of jeans on and his hair looking as if he had just gotten out of bed.

There was something different about the dream this time; something dark and foreboding. The trees were closer together, and seemed to lean in towards the tree where George sat under. In addition, everything was darker, and in the distance, the woods were hazed out by a mild fog.

George stood up slowly whilst spinning his head in all directions, puzzled. He didn't know what he was supposed to do. He wasn't up to walking around in endless circles again, and he didn't have anything that seemed to be chasing him, so what point was there to him being here?

He sighed, leaning against the tree, the rough bark scraping his back. Irritated, he stripped a piece of bark from the tree and began to pick at it, scratching dusty dirt from between the crevices until the tips of his fingernails were black with filth. He didn't know what this place was or whether or not there was a point to the dream, but he was just going to ignore it. Besides, what was the point of combing his mind for answers? What was the point of anything? In a matter of moments, he would wake up to find himself in his bed at the asylum with nothing but a cold sweat and the desperate screams of his fellow "patients" filling his ears,

Then something dawned on him, something that made him wish he could stay in this dream forever rather than wake up to that wretched asylum. This was it. He had reached the end of his rope. Now that he was going to be stuck in this asylum for all eternity, he had no other purpose in life. He was just another person to be forgotten as time passed. The human mind is like a sieve, so it wouldn't take very long for his friends and family to all just move on and forget he ever existed. What was the point anymore? What was driving him?

George's thoughts automatically turned to Autumn, and the look in her eyes that day at Fortescue's , still burning clearly in his memory. He still cared about her, she had given him hope. However, he had thrown it all away. If he would've just moved on and forgot about Fred, then none of this would be happening, and he would sleeping in his soft, warm bed on the second floor of his store instead of this small, empty room hanging over the dark churning waters trapping him in this god damned asylum. All he could ask himself was "what's the point?"

George threw the shred of bark angrily at an adjacent tree, watching it crumble into dust and descend slowly to the ground.

_"Ashes to ashes and dust to dust…"_

Why even try anymore? He might as well just give up…

A shrill scream reached George's ears, waking him abruptly from his slumber. His eyelids flew open as his body snapped upright. "Bloody hell!" he exclaimed, his heartbeat racing.

George turned to see Roger sitting in the dead corner of his bed that occupied the corner of the room, his knees drawn up to his chest, rocking. "Morning, George." He muttered as another high-pitched scream echoed through the room.

George remembered Roger's comment last night about the altophobiac treatments, and fell backwards onto his pillow. It was one hell of a wake-up call.

"It's easier if you wake up a little bit beforehand." Roger called over another scream. "You don't have to worry about jumping out of your skin when they start yelling."

George winced at the pleading shouts of a man yelling something along the lines of "Please don't make me!"

"Is it like this every morning?" George shouted to Roger.

Roger nodded. "You'll get used to it!" he yelled back.

George rubbed his eyes roughly, irritated. He bloody well wasn't going to be getting any sleep now, so he might as well get out of bed and change out of the clothes in he came in with. With an angry groan, George jumped out of bed, stomping over to the trunk at the end of his bed to pull out his white "uniform." He flew open the lid and pulled the neatly folded shirt and pants out before slamming it shut again.

His ears seared with pain as an especially loud shriek reverberated through the room. He dropped his clothes and clapped his hands to his ears. Even Roger slammed his fists to the side of his head in an attempt to save his eardrums. George found it hard to imagine what the hell they were doing to those people out there.

During a brief pause between screams and sobs, George managed to pull off his shirt and pants, replace them with the white clothes from his trunk, and throw them in a corner before falling down on his bed and bracing himself for the next scream. What kind of bloody asylum were they running here?

The screaming died away after about an hour of torturous shrieks. George didn't uncover his ears until he was sure the patients had left for good. Once he had confirmed their leave, he yanked his bed covers over his head angrily with a loud "ugh!"

"It's ok George." Roger said, not moving from his spot in the corner. "By next week, it will all be routine for you. It will just be the part of the day, sort of like the sun rising every morning. You just let it happen."

George sighed heavily. "How do you deal with it all Roger?" he asked. "How can you stand doing nothing but sitting in this empty room with nothing to do but sit and wait to be dragged down to that stupid psychiatrist to get your brain dissected every single day?"

"It's not all that bad." Roger said. "It just takes some getting used to."

George peeked out from under his covers. "How did you break your arm?" he asked gruffly.

Roger looked down at his cast and began cradling his arm gingerly. "Like I said, it just takes some getting used to." He gave an incredibly weak smile.

George rolled over to face the wall. _"How much getting used to will I be able to take?"_ he thought grimly to himself.


	15. Chapter 14: Wasted Away

**[Hey guys, it's nice to see you still reviewing, but it's nicer to see that my brain is still rolling after exam week, so that's good ****J****. So a lot of you have been writing about how depressing the story is getting, well, I think it's necessary to the plot personally. And also [EXTREMEMLY VAGUE AND MINOR SPOILER ALERTT**Iitgetsbetter.**[END OF EXTREMELY VAGUE AND MINOR SPOILER So here's the next chapter, have fun.**

Roger was right about one thing, staying in the asylum took some getting used to. George's first full day was like hell, even after the altophobiac patients left. It was quiet, in a frightening way. He would always look to Roger, attempting to find a way to strike up conversation, but all he did was sit in his corner, hugging his knees and rocking back and forth while persistently staring at the door with a strained look, like it was about to blow itself up any moment. '

George found himself moving around the entire room in an attempt to keep himself busy. At first he would just pace the floor, and then he would take a close look at the heavy metal door in an attempt to figure out exactly how it worked. When he had given up on the door, he would shuffle over to the window and watch the dark churning ocean far below them, observing how each wave crashed against the rocky shore. He would occasionally look up at the clouds for a hint of sunlight, but after an hour with no sign of change in weather, he simply sat cross-legged on his bed, scratching little doodles onto the rusty bedrails.

After an eternity of sitting around doing nothing, the heavy metal door opened itself for a male nurse, wheeling a cart holding two small trays. He set the trays on the trunks at the foot of their beds and left without a word. George thought of asking if they were going to ask them any questions like Roger had mentioned the day before, but he decided he would be better off being allowed to keep his dreams to himself.

The meals were meager, containing only a small bread roll and what looked like oatmeal mixed with salsa in a bowl. It smelled like vomit and tasted even worse. He pushed it aside with disgust, eating the roll downing the paper cup of water on the corner of the tray and setting it back on his trunk. Roger on the other hand, ate the entire meal greedily, oatmeal salsa and all. When he finished his own food, he asked George if he was finished, and George handed the remnants of his meal to him without a word.

So went the next month or so for George. After about a week, the screaming stopped bothering him, and he managed to tune it out enough to get a little extra shuteye after they awoke him the first time. They only served two meals a day, and George continued to consume the bread and water, giving his oatmeal salsa to Roger. However, after about two weeks of living off bread and water, George began feeling hunger biting at his stomach like a venomous tentacula, and managed to eat his entire meal despite the foul aftertaste.

His psychiatry sessions, on the other hand, only got worse and worse with each passing day. Mrs. Leary started performing strange tests on him. One day, she would perform tests on George while he was in a deep sleep, and the next, she would be using some sort of electroshock therapy on him used by muggles. During the shock therapy, she would ask him about George, and it seemed that no matter what he said, Doctor Leary would spitefully send a piercing shock into his head with her wand, leaving painful burn marks on his temples. She would always be saying "That's not the correct answer!" and then continue to ask more questions. By time he got back to his room at night, he was ready to pass out with exhaustion, and the burn marks on his temples would bother him the entire night.

His nightmares continued relentlessly, tormenting him every night. Sometimes he was being chased by the mysterious creature again, but mostly, if anything happened, he would find himself waking up in the middle of the night from the sound of the screams of that patient, Boliva De Arroyo. No matter what happened, he was never happy when he woke up.

Weeks passed by, or maybe it was months. After three weeks or so, George lost track of time, and could only sit and wait for his next meal. He soon gave up on keeping himself occupied, and sat in his corner of the room adjacent to Roger, staring at the door, just like him. The two of them were like zombies, never moving or speaking to each other. Even after Roger had started coming back from his psychiatry sessions covered in bloody bandages, neither said a word to each other. The asylum was George's tomb, and although he seemed to have lost all ability to think like a human being, he knew that at the rate he was going, he was going to die in this hellhole.

"It's time for your session with your psychiatrist, Mr. Weasley." The nurse cheerfully chimed.

George didn't need to shift his gaze to see the nurse, he had been staring at the door all day, waiting for her to come and drag him off to Doctor Leary's office. It was unusually dark that day, the clouds black enough to blend completely together, and the ocean violently attacking the rocky island. George had failed to notice however, blinded by his usually trance of insanity.

The nurse came over to George's bedside, grabbing his arm and lightly tugging him away from his corner. The staff had slowly become more lenient with George since when he first came. If he had given any time to think about it, George probably would have guessed it had to do with him submitting to whatever they told him to do. He had simply given up.

George followed the nurse off of his bed and out of the room, his feet dragging along the floor as if there was a pair of bricks attached to them.

"Doctor Leary has a special session planned today for you. Isn't that exciting, Mr. Weasley!?"

George looked up at her with expressionless eyes lined with dark-purple circles. He wasn't sure whether or not he should be terrified.

The nurse led him to the usual room. His chair had been seated right by the gate separating him from Doctor Leary's office. Doctor Leary was already waiting for him on the opposite side of the bars, her eyes cast down onto a piece of parchment. "Come in Mr. Weasley!" she called.

The nurse pushed George into the room lightly. He stumbled in, tripping over his bare feet. He took his time to sit down, shaking slightly. He had learned quickly that Doctor Leary was a person for him to fear, but thanks to the nurse's message, he was even more frightened than usual. George dragged himself to his chair, falling down in it with a small thump. His head drooped down so his now slowly-graying hairs fall over his face. His hair was down to his jaw line now and rather untidy.

Doctor Leary was looking as abnormal as ever with her yellow robes hemmed with black and electric blue lipstick. She gave George a spine-chilling smirk as he sat down, pulling a roll of parchment out of her sleeve. "Good day, Mr. Weasley," she said almost enthusiastically. "How did you sleep last night?" she asked as she sent veritaserum shooting up George's nose.

George's hands flew up to his nose. She had used an extra dose this time. He felt a burning in his nose followed by the trickle of blood down his lip. "Horrible." He replied with a grimace.

Doctor Leary scribbled something down on the roll of parchment with a large, white quill. "How have you been feeling overall, Mr. Weasley? Any nausea or aches and pains?"

"I could do with something besides the crappy food you give us."

"Now, Mr. Weasley…" Doctor Leary replied curtly, brandishing her wand. "I've told you countless times, we care deeply for our patients, and our food is highly nutritional and safe." Two small sparks emitted from her wand and found their way to George's temples. George winced.

"Fine then!" he almost yelled. "I'm feeling great! I'm feeling great!" his pain distracted the effects of the veritaserum, giving him that split second chance to lie. The time he spent under the influence of veritaserum gave him the chance to learn how to manipulate it under certain circumstances.

"That's good, Mr. Weasley." Doctor Leary said with a smile before rolling the parchment back up and tucking it into her robe. "Now, Mr. Weasley, today we will be immersing you into a bit of wizard theory. We will be going through a special unlocking process that will-"

Doctor Leary was interrupted by a quick knock at her door. A male voice called out with a slight lisp "Doctor Leary?"

Doctor Leary sighed. "Yes, Robert?"

"We have a slight problem we want you to take care of on the basement floor with the Taphephobiacs. We need you to take care of it immediately!"

Doctor Leary rose from her chair. "I'll be there in a moment, Robert. Have the nurse lead Mr. Weasley back to his room."

"Right away, Doctor Leary."

Doctor Leary walked swiftly to a cabinet across the room opening it up and carefully placing her wand inside before locking it shut with a strange glass key.

George shifted uncomfortably in his chair. _"Her wand never leaves her office…"_ he thought to himself.

Before George could even begin to ponder, a red-haired nurse entered the room to lead George back to his room. "Doctor Leary will have to skip your session for today, Mr. Weasley. You'll be able to see her again tomorrow."

George didn't say anything in reply. He was almost happy. He was going to go a whole day without another torturous session with Doctor Leary. Ignoring the fresh burns on his temples and the blood staining his upper lip, George almost managed a smile.

The nurse led George swiftly up the stairs and into the large glass room outside his room. George stopped in the middle of the room, frozen to the spot. He thought he had seen something in the glass to his left, perhaps a ghost? He turned to face the image. There was a man in the window. He had untidy hair, a sort of blackish-gray color. His eyes were bloodshot and had large purple circles that reached around from his eyebrow to his cheekbone. His entire body seemed wasted away to nothing, and his lips were gray and cracked. Looking closer, George saw blood trickling from its nose.

_"Not a ghost…that's me!"_

George's stared appalled at his reflection. "Bloody hell…" he whispered.

The nurse broke George's trance, urging him into the open door of his room.

George looked at her blankly. Didn't she see it? Couldn't she see there was something wrong with him? With Davey? With everyone?! Why wasn't she trying to help them? How could she look at him and Roger on a daily basis with such a fake smile, pretending everything was just peachy keen?

George stumbled into his room without a word, still terrified by his reflection. He leaned against the large metal door after it had closed behind him. Why hadn't he noticed sooner? He should have noticed earlier how tight his skin was against his bones, how chapped his lips were, how his strength had faded away to nothing, how his pajamas were baggy on him, his top hanging off of his shoulder, and his bottoms baggy enough to completely cover his feet entirely.

"Are you alright?" said a small, quiet voice.

Everything came to a screeching halt. Then, George felt his heart race and at the same time, rip itself apart. That voice, it was so familiar. A voice that he had somehow forgotten despite how many nights he spent playing it over and over again in his head. George slowly lifted his head up to view the room. He almost forgot how to breathe; his voice was nothing but a shaky whisper.

_"No…it can't be."_ George said, staring with shock at that long-lost face. The name fell from trembling lips.

"Autumn?"


	16. Chapter 15: Promise

**[Me again, sorry to those of you ignored by these dumb notes at the beginning, but I write them because I like being able to talk to the readers a little and let them know what's going on. I have not been writing all vacation, I didn't really start again until sometime yesterday, but I really want to finish this fanfiction. I already have an idea for yet another harry potter fanfic in mind, and I want to start research for that as soon as I'm finished with this story. The only problem is…I have to finish this story ; Oh well, back to work now.**

George stood frozen to the spot. His entire body had gone numb. Was he dreaming? He had to be, Autumn was a long-gone memory by now. There was no reason for her to end up here. Unless she was visiting Roger, but Roger wasn't even in the room, he was at his weekly check-up with one of the doctors. Was he starting to hallucinate now?

Autumn had been sitting on Roger's bed carefully arranging a bouquet of flowers in a glass vase. She gave George a puzzled look. "Do I know you?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.

George just stared. The sound of her voice soothed him, like easing into a hot bath after showering in ice cold water. Her face was a welcome sight, looking up at him with those heart-stopping eyes. Although she wasn't looking at him the way she did that day at Fortescue's, she was still beautiful. Her copper-brown hair cascading down her back, reaching down to her waist. George had to stop himself from reaching out to her, just to see if she was real.

Autumn furrowed her brow. "How did you know my name?" she asked. "Did Roger say anything about me?"

George shook his head slowly, peering past his untidy hair with pained eyes. Autumn rose from Roger's bed slowly."_DO_ I know you?" she asked again, this time to herself. She approached George slowly, gazing at him curiously with her head cocked slightly. George's hands were shaking, and he was covered in goose bumps. She was only about two feet away from him.

Autumn only stared for a moment, and then a sudden realization lit up in her eyes. She almost gasped. "George? I-is that you?" she stuttered.

George didn't want to hold back anymore. He lunged forward, throwing his arms around her, his eyes squeezed shut. When he opened them, he could feel his body flooded with strange warmth, and all of his senses came to life. He heard her breathing, felt her exhale warmly on his neck. His nostrils were tingling with the luscious scent of her soft hair, and his left hand moved up her back to take a few silky strands in his fingers, hands trembling. His eyes became blurred, and he felt hot tears trickle down his cheek. Neither of the two said anything. Autumn stood dumbstruck for a moment, but George eventually felt her wrap her arms around him. He savored the moment gratefully, wishing he would never have to let go. All of his pain was washing away. He forgot completely about the blood on his upper lip and the burns on his temples, and his eyes suddenly seemed to open.

"George…" Autumn muttered. "What happened to you? How long have you been here?"

George held onto her tighter, pressing her body to his. "Since the last day you saw me." His voice wavered as he spoke. "I dreamt about you almost every night when I first came…but then…I forgot everything about the world outside this hellhole. I even forgot about you… I miss you."

George felt Autumn bury her face into his shoulder. She was crying.

"Shh…" George hushed her, putting his hand on her head. His cheeks were wet with tears as well. "Please don't…I don't want you to…" George held back a sob. He felt as if there was a balloon swelling in his throat.

Autumn pulled back from the hug slowly, her eyes glistening and tears staining her cheeks. She reached up to touch George's face, cupping his chin in her hands. "What happened to you…?"

George swallowed hard, reaching up to touch her hand tenderly. "The same thing that happened to Roger. The people here are more barking mad than we are. Neither of us belong here, that's for sure." Autumn's hands had found her way up to George's temples, brushing his hair out of the way to look at the burn marks on his temples. George remembered his nose bleed, and quickly wiped the blood away with his sleeve. "What brings you here?" he asked, drawing himself back.

Autumn hesitated. "I was visiting Roger, but he's at his-"

"Checkup…" George interrupted. "Yeah, I know."

"George, what's wrong with you? I mean…why are you here?"

"That's the thing…" George replied. "There isn't anything wrong."

Their conversation was interrupted by the mechanical clicking of the large metal door. It began to swing open, and Roger was led into the room by a male nurse. George quickly plopped himself down on his bed and Autumn furiously attempted to wipe her tears away.

"Your sister is here to visit you, Roger." The nurse said cheerfully. "Isn't that exciting?"

Roger lifted his head slowly. Autumn gave him a brilliant smile. The nurse left the room, and Autumn gave Roger a warm hug. "

"Hi, Autumn." Roger said weakly. His mouth quivered into a smile. "How are you?" he asked.

Autumn let go. "I'm doing okay." She replied. "How about you?"

Roger's face fell. "Horrible, as usual; I think you're wrong. I'm never getting out of here. I'm basically incurable."

Autumn gave Roger a stern look. "I've already told you Roger, all you have to do is prove to this place that there's nothing wrong with you- which there isn't- and they'll let you go! I promise!"

Roger lifted his foot to rub the back of his leg. "Yeah, it's the proving thing that's a problem." He gave a weak smile. George couldn't help but agree with him.

Roger and Autumn talked for a long time while George just sat and listened. Autumn talked about how the family was doing and how work was at the Leak Cauldron while Roger talked about his psychiatry sessions and how he missed life outside the asylum. After a while however, Roger fell asleep sitting up on his bed. Autumn tenderly laid him down and covered him with his blanket before turning to George.

"So what happened?" Autumn asked.

George gave her a puzzled look.

"That night you left. I saw the shattered glass on the street, but I wasn't sure what to think."

George's face grew dark. "It was…Fred. I was thinking about him again and I… I felt… guilty, because I was forgetting about him…and Fred is the kind of person you can't just forget about." George paused. "I became really violent…I just wanted to vent all of the anger and frustration I'd been bottling up after Fred died. I just wanted to break something, and I did. I basically demolished my room and ended up passing out in my closet. I dyed my hair black and everything…I didn't want to look like him anymore. I was just so…confused."

George looked up at Autumn. Her eyes were intent, and he could tell her mind was going a hundred miles a minute. "George…" she whispered. "You need to get yourself out of here."

"I can't, Autumn. You know that."

"Yes you can!" Autumn insisted. "I know you can. Roger has told me all about Hogwarts before he was here. He once talked about two redhead twins that were always causing trouble, and how clever they were. I KNOW that one of those twins was you. You can do this! I know that you're smart enough. There has to be something you can do!"

George was silent. Was there something he could do? He wasn't sure anymore.

Autumn glanced at her watch. "It's late, George. They'll be kicking me out pretty soon. I have to go." She stood up, reaching for something in her pocket. "Take this." She whispered. "I've wanted to give it to Roger for a while now, but he would never take it."

She handed George a dark-purple drawstring bag hanging on a gold cord, no larger than George's palm. Autumn opened George's hand and placed it softly inside. "I've tried it." She said. "It works." She began walking towards the door. George opened the bag carefully, as if it were made of glass. He reached his pointer finger and thumb inside and pulled out a small, silver octagon. "A key…" he whispered. George's gaze snapped up to Autumn and his hand closed itself on the octagon. He knew what he had to do. "WAIT!" he yelled, jumping to his feet.

Autumn turned around, her expression solid, but her eyes, hopeful. George walked over to her slowly, and stopped inches in front of her, taking a moment to gaze into her eyes.

"Yes?" Autumn asked, looking up at him.

George lifted his hand up to grab Autumn's chin, tilting her face towards his. He leaned himself forward, pressing his lips against hers. He felt as if a fire had been lit within him. Autumn…he could feel her…he was kissing her…and she was kissing back. George spilled all of his passion into that kiss, just in case it would be his last. He wanted this memory to stay vivid in his mind. He wouldn't forget, he never wanted to forget again.

George pulled away first, putting his mouth to her ear. "I'll see you soon, I promise." He whispered tenderly before leaning back.

Autumn's eyes were sad, a sort of mixed sorrow. Those pleading eyes…

"Please…don't forget." She begged.

George nodded, and Autumn bit her lip and turned around. She pulled a sheet of metal rectangle from her pocket reading "visitor" and inserted it into a slot in the door. It cracked open just enough for one person to squeeze through. Autumn slipped through the gap, flashing George one last smile before closing it behind her.

As soon as the door shut, George seated himself carefully onto his bed, fingering the silver octagon thoughtfully while Roger slept soundly across the room from him. A devilish smile crossed George's face. He was back, and he knew exactly what he had to do.


	17. Chapter 16: Roger's Confessions

**[Yep, me again. I actually don't have much to say, except thanks for the reviews, favorites, and alerts. It makes me happy to see people are reading. Also, someone asked in a review about George's hair turning gray. I actually got that idea from watching A Nightmare on Elm Street (I love old horror movies****) when the main character woke up from a nightmare and was so frightened she got a gray streak in her hair. So basically, George is graying from a mix of the terror from his psychiatry sessions and his nightmares. Hope that explains it****. On with the story.**

For George to be one-hundred percent sure of his plan, George needed Roger's help and also had a few questions to ask him, but seeing as Roger was asleep, he decided to leave him. In this place, sleep was one of few joys it had to offer to its residents. Meanwhile, George took care to strategically tie the pouch to his arm so that he could access it easily, and at the same time, it wouldn't be noticeable to any of the staff. It was easy for him now that his clothes were so baggy. After that, all he could do was sit and wait for Roger.

Roger didn't wake up until the next morning, a few hours before the altophobiacs came up for their sessions in the glass room. George ran over to his bed immediately to interrogate him.

"Roger, you up?" George asked quickly.

"Yeah…" he muttered, rubbing his eyes. "What's the deal?"

George dove right into the question. He didn't know how much time he had to talk. "Roger, on the first day I came here, you said that everyone was talking about me; about my interview, but you never told me why. What were they saying?"

Roger's eyes grew wide. "You still want to know?"

George nodded frantically. "Yes, I really want to know!"

Roger paused for a moment."You remember back at school, how Professor McGonagall was always talking about wizard theory in Transfiguration, and how you needed to know how to control the flow of magic from your wand to use magic correctly and stuff like that?"

George shook his head. "I didn't give a rat's ass about school, remember?"

"Right." Roger said, sitting up in his bed. "Well, witches and wizards all have a sort of magic in them, right? It flows through their body like blood in your veins. That's how we cast spells and stuff. What our wands do is focus that energy and allow us to use certain incantations to perform spells. For example, those feathers Flitwick had us levitate; what you were doing was focusing that magic into your wand and using the incantation _"Wingardium Leviosa"_ to sort of activate the magic and make the feather float. Are you following?"

George nodded. "But what does that have to do with me in particular."

"I'm getting to that." Roger said. "They were talking about how you had 'inherited' extra energy from your brother. I didn't get it at first, but after I found out it was you, I managed to figure it out. You see, when a witch or wizard is born, they inherit a small amount of magic from their mum's that slowly develops over time. That's why it takes a while for you to tell whether or not a child can actually use magic or if they're a squib. Since you and Fred were twins, both of you had to get that magic from your mum. Here's the thing though, you and Fred were sort of connected by that magic, that's why twins are usually so close to each other. You had a kind of thread of magic connecting you right? So therefore, when Fred died, that thread snapped back to you, taking all of that extra magic along with it."

"The unraveling process!" George exclaimed.

Roger gave George a puzzled look. "What?"

"Before Doctor Leary had to leave early from my session yesterday, she said she was going to put me through some sort of 'unraveling process.' She mentioned that it had some theory behind it too!"

Roger nodded. "You know that Boliva guy? The one that's always screaming like a girl?"

George nodded.

"Strange isn't it? He was supposed to get the dementors kiss, but it obviously didn't work, so instead of trying again, they hole him up here, despite the fact he's an obvious convict?"

George had a good idea of where this was going.

"Boliva had this weird thing where the kiss backfired, and whatever happiness that dementor sucked out of other people, along with whatever magic came with it, went into Boliva. So they put Boliva under high security, and now, they want to get a hold of that magic, so they can harness it and use it for their own twisted will."

"That's horrible!" George exclaimed. "Is that what they're doing with me?"

Roger nodded. "Didn't you notice spells and stuff getting easier after Fred died?"

George's thoughts went to the day before he ended up at the asylum, when he was demolishing his apartment. _"The bed frame…"_ he thought. _"I'd never had been able to completely incinerate it in one shot before. And at my interview, how I managed to fight the veritaserum...was that all Fred's magic?"_

Roger threw his covers back and inched towards the corner of his bed, drawing his knees to his chest like he always did. "You're a lucky one, George. You aren't insane, you just have something they want. I'm stuck here because I'm off my rocker."

George furrowed his brow. "Don't think that for a second, Roger. You seem completely sane to me, all that theory that you just threw at me... I could never have remembered any of that stuff, sane or not. You're in your right mind, that's for sure."

Roger shook his head, beginning to rock slightly. "No, I'm not. I'm stuck in here for a reason."

George folded his arms over his chest. "And what reason is that?"

Roger stopped rocking and his face grew sad. "Remember that last battle at Hogwarts, before you-know-who died?"

George nodded, listening intently.

"Well, I was there, fighting the battle with everyone else. At first, it was okay. I kept on thinking 'wow, I'm actually out there doing something!' I was get rid of-not actually killing- but getting Death Eaters out of the way in all directions. I felt like a hero, but then, the battle started getting worse. I could see people dying all around me, both our side and the Death Eaters. One of the last people I saw fall was…" Roger gulped, pausing as if he was afraid to say it out loud. "The last person I saw fall was Cho…"

George's jaw dropped. "Cho? Cho Chang? That girl both you and Harry dated?"

Roger nodded. "I still liked her, see? As a matter of fact, this may sound a little weird to you, but we were affianced. I asked her after we graduated." Roger flashed a plain gold ring on his left hand.George was amazed he hadn't noticed. "Watching her die like that…" a tear trickled down Roger's cheek, he wiped it off with his sleeve. George reached out a comforting hand, but Roger drew back."I was really shook up by the whole thing. I just stopped in the middle of it all and watched her die. She was just lying there, and you could see the light leave her eyes. I don't think she even knew I was watching." Roger's face was wet with tears now, and his voice was shaking.

George was at a loss for words. So many had died…who else did he not know wasn't alive anymore?

Roger continued his story. "I was miserable. I didn't know what to do anymore. I started getting into self mutilation. It got really bad, and my sister found out, so she asked St. Mungo's to take me in, but they said that the case…" Roger choked on a lump in his throat. "…the case was too severe, and I needed more intensive care, so they sent me here."

For the first time, George saw the multiple cuts and scratches covering almost his entire arm, and he realized how Roger broke his wrist…

"So you see, George, I still belong here. You don't…" he paused. "I'm guessing Autumn tried to give you that key, huh? Use it if you want to, but forget about me. I need to stay here."

George furrowed his brow angrily. "What the hell are you talking about, Roger?!" he yelled. "The only reason you're still stuck here is because you think that you should be. Don't think like that! You can heal yourself, all you have to do is move on! That's what I had to do with Fred! All this time you've spent here had to get your mind off of it! None of these people here are going to help you forget about Cho! Only you can!"

"BUT I DON'T WANT TO FORGET!" Roger screamed back.

"Yeah?!" George replied angrily. "Well that's what the bloody hell got me into this mess!"

Roger's face softened, but he quickly drooped his head to hide his face with his hair.

George was almost yelling now. "Look…Roger, if I say you're not crazy, I MEAN you're NOT crazy! There's no lie behind it, you just need to believe it yourself! If we can break out of this fortress with whatever smarts we have, that's a sure sign that we're too sane to be here…"

Roger didn't reply, he just sat there, his head drooped low.

George sighed, his voice lowering. "Fine, but whether you want to or not, I'm breaking you out of this joint, even if it means dragging you unconscious behind me, got it?"

Roger lifted his head slowly, and George was surprised to see a smile spreading across his face from ear to ear. "Got it." He replied, his voice as strong as ever. George had given him hope, and now he knew he couldn't let him down.

A series of mechanical clicks told George and Roger that someone was coming. George quickly jumped backwards onto his bed, pressing himself against the wall inconspicuously. A tall, thin nurse entered the room. "Mr. Weasley, we have rescheduled your session with the psychiatrist. She will see you now."

George got up from his bed and followed the nurse out the door and down the stairs, just as a group of terrified altophobiacs began climbing the stairs with several strong looking male nurses. George could already hear one of them screaming and begging for mercy.

"Pay them no attention, Mr. Weasley. Doctor Leary has a special treat for you today."

George drooped his head so his hair could cover his face and smiled deviously. _"And so do I."_


	18. Chapter 17: Another Old Face

**[Me again, I'm really excited that the story is coming closer to the end. I love writing, but I've been stuck on this story since before school started, and now I'm halfway through my second trimester. So, writing has been hard for me lately, because I want to finish this story, but I've been watching so many videos on youtube with GuyxGuy characters lately, my brain is being warped off the topic of the story, lol. Anyways, on with the story.**

George managed to keep up his "weakened patient" act well enough. He drug his feet all the way to Doctor Leary's office and drooped his head, all while trying his best to memorize the path they took from his rook to Doctor Leary's office. He never memorized it before because they took a different way every time, but for George's plan to work, he needed to be able to get back to his room. He refused to leave Roger behind.

George's eyes were darting around constantly, taking care to look between his strands of gray-black hair to find the patients he was looking for. He passed them before almost every session. If he didn't see them this time, he would just try again tomorrow, but he was so sure…

George was stopped in mid-thought by a familiar sound. His ears perked up, and he turned his head towards a small room closed off with an intricate metal gate. George carefully slowed down his pace so the nurse would not notice his sudden hesitation. He shortened his steps, so that he could easily step on the hem of his baggy pajama pants. He looked up at the nurse. She didn't seem to notice. He waited for the next gated off room. He looked inside the see a man sitting by one of the glass boxes suspended by the ceiling. The glass wasn't fragile enough to be easily broken, but it could be broken if given the right tools. George knew the room by the sound of tapping on the glass. These were the pyromaniac rooms, and all the pyros did was sit and stare at the candles encased in glass all day, tapping or scratching on the gas.

George carried the steps to his plan carefully. First, he took two incredibly short steps. On the third, he stepped on the hem of his pajama pants, causing himself to trip and fall to the ground. The nurse looked down at him blankly, not bothering to help him up. "Are you alright Mr. Weasley?" she asked monotonously.

George grumbled. "I'm fine." He muttered. Although he had tripped on purpose, it still kind of hurt.

The nurse sighed, bending down to help him up. George immediately scanned the nurse over, looking for any sort of small, heavy object. To his luck, he found a weird black device with an antenna on it that muggles called "walkie-talkies". As the nurse picked him up, he carefully unclipped it from her belt. It was thin enough for him to slide under the gate, and he groaned loudly as he carried out the task so the nurse wouldn't hear. If he was lucky, the patient in the room would find the walkie-talkie and think to use it to break open the glass case surrounding his candle, causing a predicament that would require Doctor Leary to leave her room, but only temporarily since the pryos were so close to her office in comparison to the Tephephobiacs in the basement area. Therefore, instead of him being taken from his cell, he would be left, however temporarily. It was a decent plan, despite its simplicity, and keeping in mind George's lack of materials to work with. Then, the real plan would be carried out. George was pleased to see that the nurse had not noticed anything.

George arrived in the psychiatrist's office as usual, doing his best to keep a straight face and maintain his fragile and weak appearance for the Doctor. He had to be as stealthy and unsuspicious as possible if he were to inconspicuously pull this off. If all went well, they wouldn't know it was him until the entire plan was complete. George couldn't help but smirk a little behind his curtain of hair. _"Stealthy is my middle name…"_

"Good evening, Mr. Weasley." Doctor Leary said with a lime-green lipstick smile. Are you ready to pick up where we left off?"

George nodded slowly, slumping down in his chair. It shouldn't take long for the pyromaniac to figure it out. Then George would have his chance.

"So, Mr. Weasley…" Doctor Leary began, taking out her usual roll of parchment and shooting veritaserum up George's nose. "How did you sleep last night?"

George held his hand under his nose to catch the flow of blood. He grimaced, but managed to ignore the pain, keeping in mind that this would most likely be the last time he took a dose of veritaserum. "The same as always." He said through clenched teeth.

Doctor Leary began scribbling away on her roll of parchment. "Any aches or pains or anything you would like to tell me about in that area?"

"Bloody noses." He said rather icily.

Doctor Leary gave him a sharp look before continuing on without noting anything on her parchment. "So Mr. Weasley, starting where we left off yesterday, I am going to apply some basic wizard theory to your case to come to a conclusion of what is wrong with you and I will put you through the unraveling process of your treatment in order to free you from the current, unstable mind-set that you are in."

George didn't say anything, just drooped his head like he always did. It wouldn't take long, any minute now.

Doctor Leary summoned a book from one of her shelves with her wand and opened it up in front of her nose. The binding was too faded to read, but George had a feeling it had something to do with the theory Roger had given him earlier.

"Now, Mr. Weasley, I-"

Doctor Leary was interrupted by the shrieks of a woman not far away. It sounded to George like she was in the room next door. Doctor Leary stood up quickly, setting the book down on her chair. She walked over to the door and rapped on it sharply.

"My dear, I recommend you muffle him, he will set the rest of the patients into a-" the word "riot" formed on Doctor Leary's lips, but it was drowned out by the replying screams and shouts of other patients. George's hands flew up to his ears. He winced at the shrieks. Most of the patients were yelling "Show them mercy!" in support of whatever patients were having a psychiatry session, while the rest just yelled out garbled nonsense.

Doctor Leary furrowed her brow and held her wand up high and stiff in the air. "SILENCE!" she bellowed.

Immediately, the screams and shouts dissipated without so much as an echo. George stopped himself, taking his hands from his ears. _"Gone…almost instantly…is that possible?"_

George looked up at Doctor Leary's wand. It was immediately below a chandelier of candles hanging from the ceiling, and George saw it for the first time bathed in light, and long enough to get a good look at it. His heart skipped a beat. _"The wand…it looks so familiar…and that magic…it was so strong, I could feel it vibrate through my entire body like an earthquake…not to mention the patients, they stopped screaming so soon, is it possible for someone to do that to a bunch of loonies, they wouldn't stop so soon…they would have at least took a minute or two to fade out. Is it possible that…" _George stopped himself in mid-thought, pondering the theory carefully so not to jump to any hazardous conclusions.

_"Is it possible that she lied when she said magic only worked outside of the office?"_

Doctor Leary set her wand down on her desk. "Now, Mr. Weasley, I-"

"Doctor Leary?" called a voice from the office door.

Doctor Leary groaned irritated. "What is it?"

"There seems to be a problem with the patient, I'll need your assistance."

Doctor Leary, now seemingly furious, stomped over to the door mumbling something about amateur dimwits.

"I'll return momentarily." Doctor Leary said through gritted teeth before slamming the door behind her.

George waited for a moment, watching the door intensely to make sure she was really gone before leaping from his chair. He couldn't waste any time. This had to be done quickly. If Doctor Leary caught him in the act, he wouldn't get a second chance.

The first thing he had to do was find a lock on the gate. There had to be one somewhere for whatever reason. George spotted it within seconds on the middle bar of the gate, built slightly thinner and boxier than the rest of the bars. George took the key from the pouch on his wrist and shoved it into the slot where it spun madly for a moment before clicking the gate open. The bars slowly opened themselves wide enough for one person to slip through. George took the key from the hole and slipped through the gap before closing it behind him.

Although he had always been but a few inches from the office, it had a different air to it from the inside rather than behind bars. A strong scent of peppermint floated in the air, and the light was warm and welcoming. George could feel his senses dancing. The heaviness of the asylum wasn't present here, it was like a whole different world, and George loved it.

Almost forgetting to make quick work of the task, George started by running to Doctor Leary's wall covered by bookshelves, wardrobes, and trunks. He quickly went through them all, looking for anything that might be useful. Amongst all the miscellaneous junk, he found a switchblade, one of many bags of assorted keys (George guessed they were for the employees), a black cloak that he put on promptly, and bottle of fire whiskey that he gratefully took a swig of before hiding it in the pocket of his cloak along with the bag of keys. He made sure to carefully fasten his knife beneath the cord of the pouch on his wrist before running to Doctor Leary's desk for her wand.

George had to stop for a moment to look at the wand again. It still looked so familiar, like he had seen it before. He picked it up carefully, and was surprised by how comfortably it sat in his hand. It was like an extension of his arm. He held it up to the light, examining it carefully.

Then it hit him, like a powerful blast of nostalgia. "This isn't Doctor Leary's wand!" he said under his breath, tightening his grip on the weapon. "This is MINE!"


	19. Chapter 18: Footsteps

**[Hey guys, just a quick note of apology about yet another period of writer's block. I definitely need to find a way to avoid that . to be honest though, I wasn't busy or anything, I've just been totally blank. So, without further ado, the story.**

George almost dropped the wand, completely appalled. How could he not notice? That was HIS wand that he had held with such familiarity since he had walked out of Olivander's wielding it proudly. It was such a happy memory for him…but this place had taken all of the happiness out of his head. George felt his grip tighten.

_"No, I can't start thinking like that again…"_ he thought. _"I have to keep my mind set on what's going on here and now, not what already happened. That's what started this whole mess…I need to take action."_

This was the only spark George needed. He didn't have a single doubt about taking down Doctor Leary with everything he had. He was going to make sure that she was thrown in Azkaban for all the hell she had put him and everyone else in St. Dimentia's through. This was his wand, and it didn't take him long to guess why she had it. It was all clear and obvious to him now. All that gibberish Roger was telling him earlier was right; she did want Fred's power, but now she wanted George's too. George tried his best to apply simple logic to it. He and Fred has spent hours experimenting with effects of magic to make their products, he could at least but two and two together. Doctor Leary was using George's wand to harness his power since Fred's wand was unavailable.

George could literally feel a heat burning deep down in the pit of his stomach. He wasn't just mad now, he was enraged. He was ready to blast that woman into a pile of dust. She had not only tortured George with the pain of his lost twin, but she had completely tainted Fred's memory. She had taken the tool that he had used with such finesse to make hilariously witty creations and used it for torture and meaningless pain. A shiver of wrath slid down over George's body, flowing through his limbs and spreading out to the fingertips.

George wanted to scream…not just in frustration, but loud enough to shake the foundations of this hell that he had spent so long in, wasting away to nothing while watching everyone around him do the same. He wanted his revenge, he wanted to watch this place burn down to the rock on which it stood and witness the crashing waves extinguish the flames and drown the ashes. It sounded horribly morbid and insane, but what did he expect? He was in an asylum.

George held his wand up at eye level. He was ready for his revenge. He set the tip of his wand on the top of his head. He felt his adrenaline rush at the long-forgotten feeling of magic in his fingertips. Slowly, his grayish-black hair began to fade, making way for his natural, fiery-red color. George turned around, looking at his reflection in the glass of a nearby cabinet. A smile spread across his face.

"I don't look like Fred anymore…" he whispered to himself. "I look like George…I look like me!"

George slipped out the door into the hallway as silently as possible putting the hood up on his black cloak and taking a quick swig of fire whiskey. The hall was completely desolate. The silence was unbearable. George already missed the warm lightness of Doctor Leary's office. Every step he took echoed deafeningly and every breath he took was sharp and coated with anxiety.

The first thing George had to do was take care of Roger. He had memorized the way back to his room well enough, but he would have to be quick about it. If he was caught halfway, he would never have a chance. It wouldn't be long before Doctor Leary discovered that George had escaped with her wand and other personal belongings.

His journey through the halls of the asylum seemed to last for hours. Following the twists and turns carefully, fearing his memory may fail him, leading him down some unknown corridor, eliminating all chances of him finding his way back. He looked warily around every corner he came to, praying that there wouldn't be a nurse or fellow escaped patient waiting for him around the bend. He couldn't be seen, or the whole plan would be doomed to failure. George could imagine it already. Doctor Leary would pull him back into her office, declare him even more insane than she first thought, and then move him to a small, empty, gated-off room with padded walls and an iron door. They would put him in one of those muggle torture devices called straightjackets and he would never see anyone except nameless, emotionless nurses. George couldn't help but shudder violently. To him, it was a fate worse than death.

George heard footsteps behind him. His head whipped around and the hood of his cloak fell. His breath was caught in his throat. A shadow crept from the corner, growing more distinct the closer it came. It wasn't long before George could make out the shape of a tall, thin man with shaggy hair similar to his. George didn't think it was a good idea to stop and say hello, so he dove around the next corner, his cloak disappearing just as he would assume the man turned into the hallway. George's pace had quickened to a fast walk. He could still hear the echoing footsteps behind him after turning a few more corners. With every new hall he entered, his feet picked up speed, and the footsteps behind him caught up to match. By time George had made it most of the way back to his and Roger's room; he was practically sprinting as well as panicking.

"_He can't NOT be following me at this point…"_ George thought to himself. _"I don't think it's a nurse, or else he would have called for back-up by now. It has to either be a patient or a visitor, but what would they want with me? I don't stick out that much, do I?"_

George was fighting the urge to look back and get a good look at the guy, but he didn't want to take any chances. This guy was following him pretty intently. There had to be a reason behind it. Just because he was in an asylum didn't mean that he was surrounded by completely morons.

No longer able to resist the temptation, George skidded to a stop in the middle of the hallway. He paused for a moment, waiting for the footsteps behind him to follow suit. They did the same, stopping so suddenly, that the last step didn't even have time to echo. George took a deep breath and spun around on his heel. He was shocked to see nothing but an empty hallway. Not a single sign of human life.

"_Well…that wasn't weird at all."_ George thought sarcastically to himself.

George pressed on, not wishing to waste anymore time. For a while, he thought the footsteps had gone, but a few hallways later, George began hearing the same footsteps behind him.

"_God, what do they want with me?" _George asked himself, now irritated. _"I'm not sure whether I should be worried or annoyed."_

George gazed over his should again, only to find yet another empty hallway. He rolled his eyes and continued walking. This was a waste of his time. If they wanted to follow him then fine. His main priority now was getting Roger and him the hell out of this place. George put his hood up with a huff and broke into a run down his last three corners. He then found himself at the spiral staircase leading up to the glass room. He was at the home stretch.

George eagerly ran up the stairs, a determined smile spreading across his face. His plan was working out greatly, and the footsteps had faded away to nothing. He was so close to freedom he could taste it. His heart was pounding, his hands clenched into tight fists. He jumped over the last step with more energy than he remembered having in a while. Yet, despite his sudden burst of power, George found himself grinding to halt at the top of the stairs. His feet froze to the ground and a terrible chill ran up his spine. Heavy rain was pounding on the glass room, streaming down the walls and dripping from the floor. It was impossible to see anything except the long fall to the ocean below.

George managed to tear himself away from the ground, walking to the middle of the room. Why was he stopping? Roger's room was but a few steps away. Freedom was SO close. Why was he stopping? Then he heard it….

"George Weasley…" came a chilling voice from behind him.

George slowly turned towards the spiral staircase he had just come from. His eyes fell on a tall, extremely thin, and overall frightening man. His eyes were bursting from their sockets, his hair was shaggy at a length similar to George's, and his shirt was unbuttoned all the way down to reveal skin tightened around a rib cage large in comparison to his waist. His long, thin hand trembled slightly as it lifted up to point threateningly at George.

"I've been looking for you." He whispered.

George didn't know what to say. "Who the bloody hell are you?" came to mind, but his mouth couldn't seem to form the words very well.

"Wondering who I am?" the man asked conveniently. "I bet you are, Georgie. I bet you are." The man crossed his arms over his chest and leaned casually against the stair rail. "I've known who you are for quite some time Georgie, and now I've finally got to meet you. I must tell you, it _is _quite an honor."

George only stared blankly in response.

"But forgive my manners!" said the man, slowly approaching George. "I haven't introduced myself yet, have I? Aren't you going to ask me my name Georgie?"

George was almost in a bit of a trance. He didn't know what it was about this man…. "Who are you?" he finally asked.

The man seemed please by the inquiry. "Boliva de Arroyo, at your service sir." He said proudly with a gentlemanly bow. "No need to introduce yourself. As you can see, Georgie, I already know who you are."

George could feel his heart stop momentarily. Boliva… he knew the man seemed familiar. He was the man with the feminine scream that he had dreamt of so many times. Almost immediately, his head flooded with questions. Why was Boliva following him? Why was he talking to him? What could he want with George, and more importantly, how did he know his name?

"So how have you liked the asylum, Georgie? It is great being among your own kind, isn't it? I must say, you have grown quite a bit since the last time I saw you. Have they been feeding you? You're wasting away to nothing, Georgie."

"It's George…" he interrupted, finding Georgie to be a little unsettling, especially coming from a stranger. He wasn't even sure if his mother used that nickname on him.

Boliva ignored George's remark. "Don't you want to know why I'm here Georgie? Aren't you wondering why I've left the comfort of my little cell just to speak with you?" Boliva began to slowly circle George. "Do you even know what I did that finally landed me here?"

George shook his head.

"Well, I did several things that made me eligible for St. Dementia's. However, it was the most recent crime I committed that finalized the idea that I belonged in an asylum rather than Azkaban."

George decided to play along. "What did you do?"

A crooked, evil smile crossed Boliva's face. He was behind George, but he could see it vaguely reflected in the glass wall in front of him. Boliva approached George from behind, putting his hands on his shoulders and his mouth to his ear.

"I killed your twin brother, Georgie." He whispered.


	20. Chapter 19: Fred's Soul

**[Hey guys, welcome to the new chapter. Thanks for all the reviews, I'm surprised that no one has made any Stephen King's **_**IT **_**references in terms of the nickname Georgie (at least that's what I was thinking….) I'd also like to thank you guys for sticking it out this long. I've gotten in and out of this story numerous times since I started it last summer vacation, and you've still been reading. The support really helps :3 I'll also start planning for my next Harry Potter fan-fiction immediately after this story is finished. Anyways, enough of my blabbering, let's move on to the story**

For George, the reaction came immediately. He didn't even have to wait for his brain to register the idea. As soon as the word "Georgie" had echoed through his ears, his feet spun him around and his wand hand shot up. _"Stupefy!" _George cried, a bright, red light emitting from his wand. Boliva ducked the spell, laughing.

"Too slow, Georgie!" he cackled. "You didn't even let me finish!"

_"Stupefy!"_ George yelled in reply. He didn't want him to finish. He had heard enough to know that this man didn't deserve enough. He was going to kill him where he stood. Fred was gone, and it was HIS entire fault.

"The look on his face was absolutely fantastic!" Boliva yelled over the George's incantations.

_"Stupefy!" _That smile. That chilling smile spread across George's face, even as he was laid in his coffin. That last expression of pure entertainment slapped on his mug right before he died. How could he forget…

"But the look on YOUR face, Georgie…now THAT was classic!"

_"Stupefy!" _George's aim grew worse and worse with each incantation. His choked on his words, and his cheeks were now hot with tears. He had to kill him. He had to do it for Fred. He wanted-no, needed-he needed his revenge, even if he had to die along with the bastard.

"Do you miss you brother, Georgie? Do you miss your little buddy?"

_"STUPEFY!"_ George screamed, his vision now completely obscured by tears of rage.

Boliva's laughs grew more and more maniac with each spell he dodged. "Oh, don't be so depressing little Georgie. I have a present for you!"

George was frantic now. "Shut up!"

"You can speak to your brother if you want, Georgie! He's right here!"

"Shut the HELL up!"

"George?"

George's heart skipped a beat. His entire body went numb, and his wand arm fell limp and lifeless at his side. No, it couldn't be. It was impossible.

"George, it's me!"

"F-Fred?" George stammered, his eyes wide with shock.

"Yeah, it's me, George!"

George took one step forward, then stumbled onto his knees. His heart sunk past his stomach. Fred was here in this room. He could hear him, he was definitely here. "Where are you, Fred?" he whispered.

"Here…" he replied.

"Where's 'here?" George asked.

"You can't see me?" he replied.

"WHERE ARE YOU, FRED!" he shrieked hysterically. "TELL ME WHERE YOU ARE!"

"George, I'm right in front of you."

George looked up, his entire body shaking. The only person he could see was Boliva. "I can't see you!" he cried.

"Look closer!" Fred insisted.

Boliva cackled again. George looked up. Something wasn't right. Fred was here, he could hear him, but why couldn't he see him? Something was up. George looked closer at Boliva.

"Look closer, George. I'm right in front of you."

George's pupils dilated and his breath caught in his throat. Boliva's throat was moving along with George's voice, his adam's apple bobbing up and down on his neck. He was using ventriloquism to imitate Fred's voice. George's muscles tensed up. He began sobbing.

"Aw, Georgie is crying?" Boliva said, still using Fred's voice. "It's okay, Georgie. I am here. This fantastic Boliva fellow has my soul!" Boliva cackled.

"YOU SICK BASTARD!" George screamed. "SHUT THE HELL UP!"

"He wants your soul too, Georgie! He has a whole collection of souls at his own disposal, Georgie!"

"I TOLD YOU TO SHUT UP! YOU AREN'T FRED! STOP LYING!"

"No Georgie! I'm NOT Freddy, but I AM his new host. I have EVERYTHING he took along with him when he left his body. "I have his voice, his soul, his youthful energy, and most importantly, his _power_. I have it all, Georgie! Soon, I'll have yours too! You and your brother will be reunited soon enough!"

"You didn't let him cross over?" George asked. "He still hasn't moved on?"

Boliva cackled. "Of course, Georgie! Did you think I just let all my victims move on with their deaths? That would be such a waste though! All that energy, all that life, just thrown away, never to be used again?" Another cackle escaped his lips. "What's the point in THAT? WHY NOT USE IT FOR MY OWN POWER?"

George stared up at Boliva in horror. "You're insane…!"

"You're in an asylum, Georgie! What the HELL did you expect?"

George stood up on his feet. "Let…Fred…go."

Boliva gave George a crooked smile. "Why should I?"

"Let him go, and I won't fucking kill you."

"But that would be SUCH a waste, Georgie! Imagine all the power I could get if I kept Fred's power, and combined it with yours! Magic is a strange concept, and if you tinker with it just right, you can make some pretty crazy things happen. Want to hear a few of my other victims? I have a beautiful collection."

"I don't want to hear. Just let Fred go!"

"Please don't kill me sir!" whimpered the voice of a little boy. "Don't kill me PLEEEASE!" Boliva's expression told George that he was greatly entertained by this. "Let my son live!" came the shriek of an old woman. "Take me instead!" Boliva screamed. It was the spine-chilling scream from George's dream. George felt sick to his stomach.

"I think we're going to win, Luna!" came the familiar voice of Collin Creevey. "I can't believe I'm actually fighting Death Eaters!"

George was completely sickened by the concept. He couldn't bare listening any longer. He charged towards Boliva furiously. His wand flew to Boliva's neck viciously. "I'LL KILL YOU!"

Boliva laughed even harder. "You wouldn't have the guts, Georgie. All these souls are stored away inside of ME. Do you know how delicate a soul is, Georgie? We wouldn't want to break anything. Imagine what would happen if you killed me while something that fragile was inside of me?"

"Don't play with me, Boliva." George said with a hint of warning in his voice.

"Oh, but it's so much fun, Georgie. You're SO easy to get to!"

George brought his wand back as if he were winding up for a punch. "I'll do it! Let Fred GO!"

"How about…NO!" Boliva cackled hysterically.

_"AVADA KEDA-"_George was stopped in mid-cast. Boliva had knocked George's wand out of his hand and punched him in the jaw. George flew back, sliding on the glass floor and hitting the wall. His wand fell and landed on the other side of the room. He could feel blood trickling from his lower lip down his chin.

"You're so cute when you're losing, Georgie!" Boliva's smile spread from ear to ear. "You see, Georgie, I have the advantage! I don't need a wand to kill you! I don't even really have to kill you! I just need to separate your soul from your body, and that's the end of it! Of course, it _is _always fun to watch the lights leave one's eyes. Let me tell you, blowing up your brother was _most _entertaining." Boliva walked up slowly to George, kneeling down in front of him. "But no Georgie, I want to get this done quickly. I want to take your soul, and then make both you AND your little twin brother watch as I tear your body apart limb-from-limb. Don't worry though. I'll be sure to send the pieces to your mum and dad. I'm sure they'll be glad to have their little Georgie back home with them."

George swung his fist at Boliva, but his arm was weak with exhaustion, and Boliva caught his arm, twisting it sharply until the bone snapped. George cried out in agony.

"Your scream is adorable, Georgie. I'm sure it will be most fun to reenact for my future victims. It will be quite the party trick."

George swung the other fist at Boliva. He caught it again, this time, breaking his wrist. Another cry escaped George's lips. He was done for. He had nothing else. Boliva had him.

"Well, isn't this a lovely scene to behold? Little Georgie on the brink of death, wallowing in pain and self-pity. Poor little Georgie. Oh well, I can assure you, it ended much more quickly for your brother. Too bad it won't for you."

Boliva put a hand in front of George's face. "Your soul is mine now, Georgie. You won't enjoy this."

George looked up at Boliva, terrified. He was at the end of his rope. He had come so far, only to fail now. He would never get his revenge. He would die at the hands of the same man who killed Fred. He was going to die a slow, painful death, and then watch as Boliva mutilated what was left of him. This was it.

"Ready, Georgie?"

George whimpered.

Boliva cackled, his face screwed up insanely. He found this so sickeningly entertaining. George questioned whether or not he could even be human.

_"Avada Kedavra!" _

George winced at the spell, thinking it was for him, but to his surprise, the flash of green light hit Boliva. His laughter stopped, echoing off of the glass walls. His face fell, and his eyes glazed over. George, meanwhile, was speechless. Boliva's jaw fell wide open, and a long series of shrieks emitted from it. Not from him, but from the souls inside. Hundreds of small, white orbs streamed from his mouth, disappearing into the atmosphere as they escaped. Each one was a soul, held hostage after death. Each one had their own scream. Each one was a victim of Boliva's cruelty, and now, each one was free.

When the last orb had escaped from his mouth and the last shriek had faded away to nothing, Boliva's body fell limp and lifeless to the floor. Fred's killer was now the killed.

George looked up to see who had cast the spell.

"Roger?" George whispered .

Roger Davies was standing outside their door, George's wand in hand, still aiming where Boliva had stood. His eyes were wide with terror.

"Wh-what happened?" he stuttered.

A smile spread across George's face. "Roger, you did it! You killed Boliva! Roger, you did it!"

Roger was frozen to the spot. He seemed baffled as to what just happened. George was about to explain when he saw a white mist forming in the center of the room. Both George and Roger stopped, turning to the mist. It was beginning to form into the shape of a human. First, a torso from which sprouted two legs and two arms. Then came the neck, then the head, followed by the details of the face. Once the apparition had completely formed, it turned to George and smiled.

"You did it, George."

George couldn't breathe. It was Fred, standing right in front of him. It wasn't a trick this time. He was here. "F-fred." He choked.

Fred nodded proudly. "The one and only!

George attempted to stand up, but he was hindered by the pain in his arms. He whimpered at the agony.

"It's okay, George. I can't stay long anyways. I have to cross over. I'm a little bit overdue."

"No." George shook his head. "No, don't leave me! It's hell here without you!"

"Come on George, you know I can't stay. You'll be fine on your own. Just do me a favor, okay?"

George nodded. "Anything."

Fred's expression became serious."Keep your life going, George. Don't dwell on the past. We NEVER lived in the past or the future. We lived in what was going on right then and there, and I want you to keep living that way. It's the only way you'll be happy. And, if you'll excuse the pun, it _kills _me to see you unhappy."

George laughed weakly. "That was horrible! You couldn't come up with something better?"

"Yeah, I'd like to see you try!" Fred snapped back. "Anyways, I have to go now George. Stay sane now, won't you?"

"I'll try my best." He answered with a slight smile.

Fred smiled, the same smile he had when he died, only it was less morbid this time. He then began to fade away. By time George was done blinking away the tears, Fred was completely gone.

Roger meanwhile, was utterly confused. His face had turned white, and his wand hand was shaking violently.

"What's up, Roger? You looked like you've seen a ghost!" George smirked.


	21. Chapter 20: Open Fields

**[Hey everyone, I'm so proud of myself for getting back on track with the story. Well, I am sad to say though that we are reaching the end of the story. ****L**** In case any of you have been wondering "Hey, does Giselle Sancrant have a SOUL after everything she put George and Roger through?" Well, let me just say, I was definitely tearing up while writing the previous chapter, and am on the verge of marrying Roger after his great act of bravery. X3 I never thought I would have fangirlisms over Roger Davies o.o Anyways, back to the story**

George's apartment was quiet and tranquil. The night was beautiful, and he was finding it hard to sleep. After tossing and turning in bed for a few hours, he finally left his bed to open a window, letting a cool summer breeze dance around the apartment. George gratefully took off his t-shirt, letting the cold night air hit his body. His fiery red hair rustled in the wind, and he let out a sigh of relief.

It had been months now since George's stay at St. Dimentia's. After the incident with Boliva, George had managed to leave the asylum and escape undetected with the help of Roger, who took care of apparating both of them back home to the Burrow the moment they made it outside onto the ocean rock. It was nighttime when they arrived, and George woke his parents up to tell them he was home. His mother threw her arms around him, balling her eyes out. His father congratulated him on his release, not knowing that George had broken himself out.

After receiving some first aid magic from his mother, George sat his parents down and explained everything to them. He told them about the asylum, his room, the way they treated their patients, and his sessions with Doctor Leary. He also told them about Doctor Leary's scheme to get George and Fred's magic as well as the story about Boliva, leaving the part about Boliva being Fred's killer out of the story for the sake of his mother, deciding it would be better to keep it to himself. By time George had finished telling his story, his parents seemed absolutely horrified. Mr. Weasley vowed that the ministry would be hearing about this when he went to work that morning. Meanwhile, Roger would be allowed to stay with them until his parents received their owl announcing George's release. It wouldn't take long.

Roger hadn't spoken a word since they left the asylum. Killing Boliva had come as quite a shock to him, but George had a feeling that wasn't it. Roger's eyes had a new life to them. The color in his cheeks had already returned, and after a hearty homemade breakfast from Mrs. Weasley, he was even smiling.

"I never would've thought I'd have the guts…" Roger finally said later that day, sitting next to George in the garden while they watched gnomes run around freely.

George gave Roger a look of surprise. "Why do you say that?"

Roger shrugged. "I dunno. I guess that murder has always seemed so beyond me. After sitting in that asylum for so long, I'd forgotten the important things in life, like facing you fears." He paused, observing the lines on the palms of his hands. "Morals and stuff like that…all the things your parents tell you when you're little that don't really amount to much until you get older…I forgot all of it. Then I heard Boliva and you going at it outside of our room. Boliva was just tearing you down with everything he had, and you managed to stand your ground and fight it all… I began to realize that I envied your willpower. Your ability to keeping going was outstanding. It made me feel weak and insignificant, sitting in my little corner of the room, waiting for nothing but my next meal."

"But you aren't weak OR insignificant." George insisted.

"Well I was then." Roger argued. "I was sitting there wallowing in my own misery day and night. I wanted to get out of there, but I was always too afraid to take action. No matter how many times Autumn offered me a way out, I always refused out of my own cowardice. You, on the other hand, jumped at her offer the first time it was given to you."

George opened his mouth to say something, but he was at a loss for the right words.

"I finally decided to take some action. I wanted to help, and lucky I did, or you would be done for. Autumn had given me several keys, but I refused to use any of them, just hid them away, not thinking I would ever use them. I grabbed one and unlocked the door to my room. The first thing I saw was Boliva standing over you, breaking your arms. At first, I had no idea what to do, but when I saw your wand lying there, I kind of just instinctively picked it up. The first spell that came to my mind was the killing curse, so I just kind of…did it…I'm not very proud of it, but I guess anyone else would've done it…right?" Roger looked over at George, who was smiling brightly.

George clapped Roger on the back. "You did the right thing, Roger."

Roger's parents came to get Roger later that day, thanking George for all his help, and glad to have their son back home. George told them he was glad to have helped, and could've swore he saw a tear trickle down Roger's cheek just before they apparated home.

When Mr. Weasley came home from work, the very first words out of his mouth were "It's gone." Both George and Mrs. Weasley gave him a puzzled look, confused as to what he meant.

"It's gone!" he exclaimed. "Burnt down to the ground! Apparently, one of the patients started a fire somewhere, and it was left unchecked for too long. The nurses managed to get all the patients out of there in time, and they've all been moved to a special ward in St. Mungos for now. There was only one casualty."

George raised an eyebrow. "Who was it."

"One of the psychiatrists there, Doctor Leary. One of the nurses claimed that they tried to make her leave, but she refused to admit that there was a fire." Mr. Weasley shrugged. "She's nothing but ashes now."

A smile spread across George's face. "All's well that ends well." He said cheerily.

George returned home later that day to find Verity had been running the shop on her own during George's absence, paying herself with the normal paycheck and storing the remainder of the money away in case her boss ever returned. George was so grateful, he doubled Verity's paycheck and gave her the rest of the week off while George took care of some business.

George slept for a few hours afterwards, waking up just as the sun began peeking over the horizon. It was the first sunrise he had witnessed for months, and probably the most beautiful he had seen in a lifetime. He leapt eagerly from bed, digging through his closet in search of some good robes to put on. He had yet to change out of his asylum uniform and stolen cloak. He picked out a pair of forest-green robes with a gold "G" embroidered on the chest pocket. He threw it on over a pair of jeans and left the shop for a stroll through Diagon Alley.

There were already a few witches and wizards strolling past the shops, happily chatting away with their companions. George breathed in the crisp, cool morning air, staring up at the blue-violet sky. By time George found himself by the brick wall separating Diagon Alley from the Leaky Cauldron, the alley was already packed with witches and wizards of all shapes and sizes, and George decided he owed someone a visit.

George was surprised the find the Leaky Cauldron not busy at all compared to the streets of Diagon Alley. A few families sat yawning at their tables with their breakfast in front of them. Tom, the bartender, sat cleaning a glass behind the bar, and a few waitresses could be seen cleaning tables. George took a seat at a table, putting his hood up inconspicuously. As he predicted, a waitress with long, copper brown hair approached the table, asking him if she could help him.

George held his best poker face. "I'm looking for an Autumn Davies." He said in a gruff voice, tilting his head so his hood overshadowed his face

"That would be me." Autumn said, placing one hand on her hip and using the other to lean on the table. "What business do you have with me in particular sir?"

"I've been sent to tell you that your brother, Roger Davies, has recently been released from St. Dimentia's Asylum for Witches and Wizards, and has been brought home by his parents. He has been diagnosed as completely cured of all mental illnesses."

George could see the smile on Autumn's face. "Is that all?" she asked.

"That is all." George said.

Autumn nodded. "Have a nice day sir." She said, walking away from the table.

George pulled down his hood, rising from his seat to follow Autumn. He caught up to her, spun her around, and gave her a quick kiss on the lips. Autumn kissed back.

"Well?" George asked.

Autumn paused to tousle George's red hair before answering. "I didn't think it would take you THAT long." She giggled.

So here George was now. Back home in his apartment, his life back in one piece again. He had asked Autumn to stay with him in the apartment since he had the room. That way, Autumn wouldn't have her rent at the Leaky Cauldron taken from her paycheck. She had accepted, and was now sleeping soundly in Fred's old bed on the other side of the room. George left the window open, returning to bed silently as possible, as not to wake her up. After pondering the events following his escape from the asylum, he finally fell into a calm sleep.

George woke to find himself back in the field outside of the forest. He was leaned against the large, living tree, and all of his wounds from previous nightmares had healed. The grass swayed softly in the breeze, and the sun poured it's light out over the field.

George stood up slowly, looking around at the field. The dark woods where his nightmares had taken place seemed so far off now. He didn't plan on returning anytime soon. He seemed content where he was. Everything was peaceful, and the future was bright. Spying a palm-sized rock at his feet, George picked it up, rolling it around absentmindedly in his hands as he stared off into the open fields opposite to the woods. They were practically calling to George. He could feel the promise of great joy and opportunity emanating from their direction. They were welcoming him with open arms.

Looking down at the rock in hand, George turned to the tree, placing one hand on its trunk. Just as before, it sent a surge of life and power through him, filling him with energy, making him feel more alive than ever. Holding the rock in his hand and using the sharp end like a quill, George carved a large heart into the tree, writing the initials "G.W and A.D" into the bark. When he was done, he dropped the rock back onto the ground, and turned away from the tree.

It was nothing but smooth sailing ahead. George walked merrily towards the open fields, the sun bathing his body in light. George pursed his lips together and began whistling a simple tune as he tread through the tall grass. He was out of the woods now, and he was ready for whatever the future had in store.


End file.
